


Into the Palace

by shinealightrose



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Emperor Minseok, F/M, Imperial Palace, M/M, Plot-heavy like a Chinese Drama, Sexual Content, Some genderswap, This is not about smut but it will include it, Xiuharem, lots of cameos, mostly sorta
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2018-12-20 14:22:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 30,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11922741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinealightrose/pseuds/shinealightrose
Summary: When Prince Minseok, fifth son of the reigning emperor, is conferred the status of Crown Prince, life for him and his concubines begins to change. Their entrance to the harem of the Imperial Palace means a lot of things: prestige, wealth and honor, but also power, life or death.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> !! Please Read !!
> 
> Story/AU is loosely based on the Qing Imperial Family. I say 'loosely' so you can imagine to your hearts' content a composite of ancient to semi-modern Chinese Palace Dramas of which I watch too many. In the sense that this includes mostly male-male relationships, I have modified the concubine/harem status to include both male and female concubines, each to be accompanied by either male/female/or eunuch attendants, so please ignore the logistics of why eunuchs are even necessary in a place where lots of people have dicks. There is NO mpreg. However, there will be at least 3 female characters of the Exo members: Sehun, Kyungsoo, and Tao. 
> 
> There will be some vaguely triggering content in the course of this story. I do not want to post explicit warnings for each scenario because of plot spoilers but if you decide to read please note there will be: Minor Character Death, Mention of Suicide, Dub-Con in the sense that the concubines/consorts are part of an arranged marriage (sexual acts themselves are NOT dubcon).

The sun beats down at an awful angle, sweat unpleasantly draining down Junmyeon’s delicate shoulder blades. Beneath so many layers of cloth and silk, he struggles not to squirm or appear fazed. Etiquette would not due if he could not abide standing and waiting for his prince.

Minho stands close beside him, holding the silken parasol high above his head. Junmyeon’s legs ache and his calves begin to twitch, toes cramping inside his priceless embroidered, high platform shoes. Scurrying down the courtyard finally, the prince’s Head Eunuch returns, head bowed low when he stands before Junmyeon.

“Your Highness, my apologies for the wait. The prince is just now awakening.”

“You have given him the message?” Junmyeon asks sharply, adding a smile nevertheless. 

“I have, consort. He will join your momentarily to hear the Royal Edict.”

Junmyeon nods to dismiss him. Chanyeol has served the prince since they were both boys. He is loyal and dedicated, respectful and to the point. Anything less and Junmyeon would have suggested years ago to discard the man and appoint a better servant. But Chanyeol has done well, of that Junmyeon is certain and, more importantly, the prince trusts him absolutely.

 Junmyeon resumes his waiting. Under the shade of parasol, his makeup has fortunately not begun to run.

“Minho, who spent the night with the prince?”

His servant responds quickly. “Master, it is Concubine Zhang inside.”

“Is it? Well that is a relief.” Concubine Zhang is sensible and dutiful. He will not keep the prince in bed longer than necessary, not when time this morning is of the essence. A Royal Edict at this hour of the day can only mean one thing. The emperor has been on his deathbed for weeks. Who knows how long he may yet linger there, but if he’s sent royal messengers to the mansion, it means a change in everyone’s fortunes. It means their prince will become Crown Prince. It means Junmyeon… might not only live the remainder of his days as First Consort, but at the head of a true Palace harem.

Would that make him the Empress? Junmyeon salivates a little at the possibility, though of course there is no guarantee that’s what he’d become. The title is traditionally reserved for female consorts of the Emperor, but his prince has no female concubine of high enough rank or favor. There is only one male consort, himself, four male concubines of which only two are in relative favor, and two low ranking females of decent family lineage but they could never hope to outstep the five males ahead of them.

On top of that, only Junmyeon has a son, Prince Jongdae, born to Junmyeon’s sister, the original First Wife who died in childbirth. Junmyeon was never truly close to his sister, but while he mourns her death, the result was that he inherited her position, both the rank of First Consort, and her child.

Jongdae is five years old now, and the light of Junmyeon’s life, his precious little boy, _his son_. He’ll be the 1st Prince now, when his father becomes Emperor.

Junmyeon adjusts his stance and swallows down a sigh.

“Master, are you alright?” Minho asks with concerned expression. Junmyeon’s servant towers over him, even when he’s wearing shoes. Bless the man though, for he is dedicated.

“Quite alright, Minho,” he says gently, belying his true glee.  

He’s more than alright. Their fortunes are about to change, and few know it yet. The sun and the heat cannot dampen his joy this morning. Oh, if only his sister were around… but no, his sister is gone, and in her place Junmyeon stands to receive her blessings. He promises himself later this afternoon to visit the temple and pray for her, thanking her for all he’s about to receive.

  
  


  
  
  


Inside the princely chambers, Yixing yawns and stretches languidly across silken sheets. They’ll be soiled now, after a long night of lovemaking, but that’s not for him to worry about. He shakes his prince’s shoulder, breathing softly across his face.

“My lord, my prince, you must wake up,” he pleas, smiling when the prince groans and turns his face to him in mock annoyance.

“Yixing… but it is early. Must you really kick me out of my own bed?”

Yixing laughs and sits up. The sheets pool down to his waist, long unbound hair falling across his torso. He knows he has directed the prince’s gaze once more to his skin, knows too that if left unchecked the prince will not get up but insist on touching him some more. 

“You must, my prince,” Yixing pouts playfully. “Consort is waiting, and you mustn’t let him wait too long. He will blame me, and I will be sad.” It’s not exactly true. Junmyeon and Yixing are well acquainted, brothers you might say in the prince’s mansion. Never has Yixing given Junmyeon cause to correct him for anything or give punishment. Junmyeon is the First Consort, and thus the prince’s only legal husband, while Yixing is just a concubine.

It does the trick though to persuade the prince to get out of bed. Yixing follows his nude backside as Chanyeol steps towards them, covering the prince in a robe and leading him towards a basin of water. A Royal Edict, that is what Chanyeol said. Consort is here so early in the morning because of a Royal Edict, which could only mean…

Yixing does not move from the bed until the prince has gone. Only then does he slip towards the edge, drawing back the beads that afford them barely a hint of privacy. His body is sore, his flesh grimy. Sweat and semen sticks between his thighs. He grimaces as he stands, bare feet landing on the delicate rug. His servant Soojung is immediately at his side and he stands, regardless of his nudity, as she slips a robe over his shoulders.

“Master, I’ve already drawn you a bath so we can return to your quarters already fresh.”

“Thank you, Soojung.”

By the time he sinks into warm water, flower petals covering the surface area emitting a fragrant aroma, he’s no longer thinking about the prince or Junmyeon, or the pains he must put his body through physically and emotionally every time he lays with the prince. He’s thinking instead about the Royal Edict and what that will mean for his three-year-old daughter. 

Soojung washes his hair, threading it through her expert fingers with delicately oiled hands. There are more luxuries to be had, of course, if their prince becomes the Emperor. But Yixing knows, as most do, that a life in the Palace is no easy thing. A life in the harem especially can be brutal. In a place where every concubine has a scheme and children are their pawns, Yixing cannot make himself feel joy. Instead, what he feels is fear.  


  
  
  


“Close the shade, Jongin, please,” Han commands, turning away from the procession of the prince and his consort as they make their way down the private courtyard towards the Assembling Hall.

“Of course, Master.” 

Han paces back towards the settee of his living quarters and perches on the end. Several of his other servants are making his bed and putting away the robes he chose not to wear this morning after all. Instead of the blue they brought him, he wanted the green silk instead. Another servant brings a box of jewelry for his perusal. Jongin takes it from the girl and holds it open for Han. Row after row of jade ornaments and pendants glitter in this light, each of them exquisitely crafted and finer than anything anyone in his family had ever owned. Yet he cannot choose one.

“None of these today, Jongin,” he says, tossing his hand to indicate the removal of the box.

“But—”

“Just my regular ornaments will do.” He holds up a mirror and checks his face. His skin is the color of porcelain, cheeks barely tinted, lips painted in pink and his eyes lined black. Jongin is an artist when it comes to powders and creams, surely the most skilled of all the servants in the mansion. Han was lucky to get him. Unlike most of the other concubines who entered the prince’s mansion with their own retinue of servants, Han’s family, though mildly well-off, had none they could spare. Jongin was assigned to him by the prince as a wedding gift. Han knows there are others in the mansion jealous of this and who would dearly love to get Jongin to themselves. Baekhyun comes immediately to mind, that frivolous concubine who spends hours on his appearance just to maintain his favor. Kyungsoo is another, one of the prince’s female concubines, but in her case, it’s less Jongin’s skills with makeup she would care for, more on his general capability. Jongin’s manners are pristine, his etiquette flawless, and his eyes and ears… despite his face giving off the appearance of indifference, are sharp.

“You’ve worn the butterfly ornament every day for the last several moons, Master. Today is an auspicious day. Wear the dragonfly at least.”

“But the butterfly was given to me by the prince,” says Han without looking away from his appearance. His hair has already been pulled up, held in place by an elaborate golden headdress bedecked with gems.

“Yes, and the dragonfly was a gift from His Highness’ mother. Few others can boast of such a treasure.” 

“But why would I…” Han stops himself before he even finishes, the answer already on the tip of his tongue.

The Royal Edict, that’s what Jongin overheard. Which means the prince has likely been declared Crown Prince, which means he will be the Emperor when the current one passes away. And the prince’s mother will become the Empress Dowager, and only Han out of all the concubines can say he has a gift of such magnitude from the future Empress Dowager. 

Han hates politics, and he hates living like this, but survival in the Imperial Harem, if that’s indeed where they are destined, is going to take more than pretty looks and a delicate walk and visits from the prince once a fortnight if he is lucky. Han is moderately favored by the prince now, but where they’re going, he’s going to need more than that.

“The dragonfly ornament, then, Jongin. Quickly.”

With his outfit complete, the only thing left to do is wait in his quarters and await the summons. The prince will surely call all his concubines to him to announce this great change in their fortunes. Han must be ready for it.

And to think, several years ago when he accepted his family’s formal declaration to marry him to the prince, that all he’d been looking for was love.

Han stands before the shade, waiting, his heart fluttering as he prepares himself for the day, remembering the look on the prince’s face when he met his consort outside in the courtyard. 

“Minseok,” Han whispers to himself, softly so as to go unheard.

Han had signed up to marry a prince, a man he’d unfortunately fallen in love with at a distance. A man who had smiled at Han and taken his hand, and taken him to bed and promised a million beautiful things in the night. Then, within a single year four new concubines joined their ranks, and the prince’s attention was thus divided more. And now that very same prince was to become Emperor.

“Minseok…” he whispers again, allowing gloom and sadness to fill his heart for a man he should have never pinned such wild, romantic hopes on anyways. For the prince had never been just his. What foolish dreams Han had nurtured for too long. It was time to put those dreams and thoughts away. Han is now twenty years old, plenty old enough for him to grow up.

 

  
  
  
  
  


“Your Highness will kneel to receive the Royal Edict.” The Eunuch Official stands on the dais holding the scroll as Minseok and Junmyeon back away. All their accompanying servants do likewise until everyone is on their knees. Minseok throws the front of his robe onto the ground in front of him and holds his arms parallel to the ground. Junmyeon, as is customary for the consort, crouches daintily, one knee on the ground and bows his body forty-five degrees. The official reads on. “By imperial decree, His Imperial Majesty, the Emperor, the Son of Heaven, Lord of Ten Thousand Years, bestows upon Prince Minseok, fifth son of the Emperor of Heaven, Prince of the Second Rank, for great filial piety to the Emperor, the honorable title Prince of the First Rank, Heir Son of the Emperor of Heaven. You will now thank His Imperial Majesty.”

And so Minseok does. Kowtowing once with his forehead firmly meeting the ground before the Edict, he is then allowed to rise. Beside him, Junmyeon’s servant rushes to his elbow and helps the consort to his feet as well. Something stirs unpleasantly inside Minseok’s chest, a pounding he has not been able to rid himself of ever since he heard of the Royal Edict.

It is done now. He is the Crown Prince. Out of eight imperial sons, it is he who will take the throne of his Imperial Father. It is he who will sit on the Throne of Heaven and command armies, command officials, become a Father to the nation.

“Consort,” he says, addressing his husband formally in the presence of their household staff and servants. 

“Your Highness.” Junmyeon turns to him, his face the picture of elegance. For a moment, Minseok sees in him the sister he was married to first, Jungsook of the esteemed Kim clan of the north, the mother of Minseok’s only son.

But no, their faces are not the same. Bearing only the slightest similarities, Junmyeon is not his sister. He is better than his sister. And he is a good First Consort, a good First Husband, Minseok’s _only_ legal husband. Capable but pleasant, regal and yet not proud, Minseok knows Junmyeon must remain in charge of his household. He must make him Empress, unprecedented though that will be will in the history of reigning monarchs and their spouses. While the Imperial family and nobles alike have for many generations now taken in both female and male concubines, there has always been a woman in charge of the Imperial Harem.  

Not this time though. Minseok has only two female concubines and neither are ranked high enough for him to dare allow them such power. No, it must be Junmyeon. 

He holds his hand out, and Junmyeon takes it. As they exit the Assembly Hall, he tells him, “Call the rest of the household, every concubine and servant. They must hear this from me.”

“Of course, Your Highness.”

Minseok is under no impression that this news has been kept a secret. There are few secrets in the prince’s mansion, he guesses there will be fewer in the Palace. 

Allowing Junmyeon to see to the household, Minseok returns to the Assembly Hall. Chanyeol stands nearby, just out of sight but ready at any moment should Minseok need him.

“Chanyeol,” he calls, and his eunuch is at his side.

“Your Highness.”

Minseok stares long and hard at a peculiar painting upon one side of the wall. His hands linked behind his back, long hair braided and hanging below his waist, he wonders what he should be prepared for first. Will there be infighting? Will some officials of the Imperial Court attempt to block his succession? Will his brothers, those who schemed for decades to attain this position and failed, come after him now? Will his harem turn on themselves as they jockey for power?

All of the above, says a small voice in his head. 

“Chanyeol, there will be a great many changes.”

His servant does not respond, but merely bows his head, waiting obviously for Minseok’s next words.

“You will accompany me to the Palace, I trust. I shall grant you the position of Head Eunuch. You will serve me loyally until we die. I will protect you. You will never betray me.” 

All at once, Chanyeol hits his knees and places his head on the ground. He bows like this three times in a rush before sitting up and saying, “Your Highness, Your Servant understands you. I will serve you as you have said.”

“You may rise.”

Sometimes the formality of it all is stifling. But it is something Minseok has grown used to, and he’ll have to get more used to it now. Without dismissing Chanyeol, the two of them walk in the direction of the courtyard where Junmyeon now stands now. As he expected, half of the household is already there and the rest are assembling now. Minseok preens for a moment in the doorway to the Hall, then deigns to walk forward and stand in the sunlight. He allows himself a full minute to observe the way each of his concubines holds him- or herself, rigidly and with self respect.

This is his harem. This will be his harem in the Palace, and more so obviously to come. But for now, Minseok is proud. In order of their apparent ranks they stand, the males first. There is Junmyeon, his official Consort. Yixing, his favorite concubine. Han, who is a great delight to him. Baekhyun, who makes Minseok laugh. Yifan, who displays such dignity. Then come his only two female concubines: Kyungsoo, who sings so beautiful, and Sehun, the delicate one, like a rare bloom flower.

It is no secret Minseok prefers the males in his harem over the women. He has always had that inclination, and no doubt if he were able he would have even less women, or perhaps none. Except that he must produce heirs, therefore they are essential. He doesn’t resent the two he has now. He’ll have more in the future, and women do have their charms, not the least thing being children. His son Jongdae stands in between his tutor and Junmyeon, Princess Liyin with her nanny beside Yixing.

“My dear Consort and Concubines, and my children. There is much change ahead of us,” he begins to address them. Across each of their faces, a myriad of expressions echo back. Some are eager, some are fearful. In small ways each of their personalities manage to shine through the austerity of their practiced expressions. 

Minseok worries for them. He can’t help it. In Junmyeon he has nothing but confidence, but Yixing? He is soft-spoken and even-tempered, a desiring trait for a concubine in the bedchamber, but thrown among wolves will Yixing be alright? Minseok doesn’t know. Neither can he guess how some of the others will fare, but most he thinks will be alright.

Kyungsoo catches his eye for a single moment, black pupils astonishingly direct even from across the courtyard. It gives Minseok pause, has him wondering if that one will turn out to be no good. Kyungsoo comes from an old noble family that still exercises great power today. Kyungsoo’s half-sister is married to Minseok’s elder brother, a First Wife in comparison to Kyungsoo’s relatively low status. With that kind of family, wielding that kind of power, it can either be good for Minseok once he takes the throne, or disastrous. 

Then again, a great number of his concubines come from similar backgrounds. Baekhyun is a distant relative of Kyungsoo. Yifan is the fifth son of a great general, his eldest brother is a general, and the rest are officers in the Imperial Cavalry. Even Yixing is not unconnected when it comes to family. That just leaves Han, whose parents are civil servants, and Sehun who comes from minor nobility. Those two should be the least powerful among the concubines, and yet they are as different as night and day. Minseok stares from Sehun, who is fidgeting oh so slightly under his gaze, to Han who stands fully straight and just as dignified as Junmyeon at least.

No, Minseok catches himself chuckling under his breath, family connections do not automatically preclude a concubine’s career. It is no good making premature conclusions about what will happen in the future. And besides, this is _his_ family now. This is _his_ harem. _They_ will serve the Emperor, the Lord of Ten Thousand Years.  

So why does he still feel anxious? 

“We have received a Royal Edict this day,” he begins, though Minseok knows they will have already heard.

  


  
  


It is late in the afternoon that same day when Baekhyun steps daintily up the steps towards Kyungsoo’s small, but modest quarters. Sehun walks behind him, girded on two sides by her servants, each with a protective hand under her elbows as she balances on each step. Baekhyun needs no such help, but he accepts Heechul’s arm as a form of protocol anyway, before having him announce his presence.

Kyungsoo’s maid greets them presently at the archway of the door and bows. “Greetings Concubine Byun, Concubine Oh, please. Mistress is just serving tea. If you’ll follow me.”

The girl is tall, abnormally tall, but Baekhyun supposes that suits Kyungsoo’s style. Kyungsoo may be on the small side but she projects a long shadow. Zitao is but a projection of that 

As Baekhyun and Sehun follow the maid, they hear the other concubine’s voice. “Zitao?”

“Mistress, you have visitors,” says the maid succinctly. 

Kyungsoo is sitting beside a small table, two other chairs already drawn up. She rises with a pleased expression, then drops into a  bow, ankles and knees bending, torso fully upright and just her head dips down as she smiles. “Greetings Concubine Byun, Concubine Oh.” 

Behind Baekhyun, Sehun mimics a curtsy at half stance. Baekhyun does not. The hierarchy between them is clear. In another situation Sehun would be bowing lower than Kyungsoo, but right now the girl is under Baekhyun’s wing. 

“Sister,” says Baekhyun, “you are so good to receive us.” He and Sehun take a place around the table as their servants bow and duck out of the room. They’ll retreat to just hearing range. Meanwhile Zitao sets a tray of tea cups before them and starts to pour.

 “It is always a pleasure to have your company,” says Kyungsoo.

Baekhyun smiles and glances around the room, taking in the delicate opulence of colors Kyungsoo has decorated her living quarters with. “What a perfect setting for the afternoon sun your room has. There is just enough light, with none of the heat.” He takes a sip of tea while Kyungsoo preens. 

“It is well situated, I must admit. Although there are times when the heat does become a little uncomfortable. I must then rely on myself to keep cool.” She nods towards a side bureau on which lay a set of delicate silk embroidered fans.

“How fortunate you are!” Baekhyun exclaims, his eyes lighting up. “My abode is not nearly so accommodating as yours, even though I came into the mansion before you. You know, my dear Sehun, that sometimes fate plays a little game with our lives. Had I known before that there were lovelier quarters I might not have been so foolish. But, these are the lessons you learn. You must always exercise a little prudence before settling down to something in your mind.”

Sehun nods prettily while saying, “Your wisdom is known by everyone.” Baekhyun smiles at her, noting however that Sehun’s long, delicate fingers tremble just slightly around her cup.

Zitao moves to refill their tea, but Kyungsoo stops her. “Let me, please. And Zitao…” she inclines her head towards the silk fans. Reading her mind, Zitao brings them to her. Once Kyungsoo is finished pouring and Baekhyun has drained another cup, Kyungsoo holds them up.

“Concubine, you must let me give you these.”

Baekhyun instantly shakes his head, protesting, “Oh no, sister, not your lovely fans, surely.”

“I must insist, please.” 

Again Baekhyun waves his hands. “But that silk, it is too rare.”

Kyungsoo wafts them in the air. “I have scented them myself. Here, you can smell the fragrance. Light and refreshing, just what suits the senses during these hot summer months. Please, take them. I could not bare for you not to have something so cool and light as these.”

Baekhyun hesitates only a few more seconds to observe the protocol. Then he summons Heechul and his servant takes custody of the fans before backing away again through the arch into the other room. 

“You are most kind.” Baekhyun sips another cup of tea, only mildly gloating even as Kyungsoo’s face remains impassive. They exchange a few more pleasantries, Sehun keeping mostly silent, before coming to the real reason for today’s visit.

“Illuminating news today, yes?” Baekhyun begins.

“It was!” Kyungsoo replies, each of them pretending they had no idea what the edict would read. Baekhyun at least has heard whispers about it for months. His father is in government, First Secretary to the Minister of Justice. Kyungsoo’s clan, just distantly related to Baekhyun’s, would have known about it too. That makes them allies of sorts, and if not allies then too close to be considered each other’s enemy. With the entanglement of their families in a myriad of political ties, it would be oh so easy to put a gently placed whisper in one official’s ear, and see another official topple from his position.

Perhaps, in another lifetime, if Baekhyun hadn’t been selected by his family to be a concubine, he might have been out there in bureaucracy. For all his father’s finely crafted speeches about the minute difference between serving the family in government and serving the family in bed, Baekhyun has never been able to shake his distaste for this sort of life. His older brother is married with two wives and several concubines, three children, one of them a son, and a prestigious career in government. Unfortunately for Baekhyun, his father had no other children except for him, no daughter to marry just right. So it became Baekhyun’s lot in life. At the age of fourteen he stopped learning the ropes of government, his sessions with the sword-master were halted, and he began learning a different kind of etiquette. Instead of playing with the other boys his age, Baekhyun was taught how to pour tea, how to dress and how to behave, how to dance, sing and play musical instruments, how to address other men, how to please them.

Minseok is not a bad husband. Baekhyun could have done far worse in that department. Minseok is kind and fair to all his concubines, doting on them relatively equal. Baekhyun can honestly say he’s fond of the prince. Of the Crown Prince, now. Interesting, how that fondness grows with one’s station in life. The Byuns chose well when they picked this prince for Baekhyun to marry. He knows too that they will have shared words with other officials who share the Emperor’s ear, when it came time to choosing an heir. Kyungsoo’s family as well.

“The Palace, then,” says Baekhyun evenly. “Who would have thought, sister? You and I, and Sehun too of course, together in the Imperial Palace.”

Kyungsoo agrees, Sehun haltingly too. Another of Kyungsoo’s servants brings a different tray to their table, this one heaped with dishes of tiny little confectionaries. Baekhyun’s stomach is prematurely satiated, not just at the sight of the sweets, but at the thought of life in the Palace, the luxuries they will have, the tributes, the food.

“Kyungsoo, you must bring your chef to the Palace with you. It would be a disgrace to leave such a talented individual to languish in such a common mansion as this.” 

“I shall be sure to invite him.”

Baekhyun grins, already pinching one of the treats between his thumb, index, and third finger. The rest are fitted with Baekhyun’s elaborately crafted nail guards, inlaid in gold and jewels and stretching over twice as long as his actual fingers. Neither Kyungsoo’s nor Sehun’s, Baekhyun is pleased to see, are quite as exquisite. It’s a small comfort that at least for now Baekhyun, though a male, outranks the two women.

They’ll be brothers and sisters in the Palace now, and more to join the harem no doubt as soon as they enter. If Baekhyun isn’t careful he will lose his place. Officially, outwardly, male and female concubines are treated with equal deference, but like so many visual rules, it’s not the same thing in private. Baekhyun knows well enough that his kind are looked down upon. His first experience outside of his family’s manor when dressed as a concubine had been especially degrading. So what that he had no choice in the matter, that his family forced him into this life. The derogatory remarks and despising sneers of his male peers and relatives, those following in distinctly traditional male roles, were enough to make Baekhyun beg for a spot of privacy soon after so he could vomit in peace. The taste of that bile, the looks, the simpering pity, the shame… he can taste it still like it was yesterday.

But that’s only outside the harem. Inside it’s almost worse. Inside, the male concubine on his own is powerless. Completely dependent on favor, on family strength, if Baekhyun fails to carve a niche for himself by either of those two factors, he will likely die alone and despised. For the harem is the natural province of the female, those who can bare a prince’s children. Baekhyun, for all that he’s married to a prince who prefers men, will never have a child on his own.

In this, Kyungsoo has the advantage. She is beautiful and clever. The prince cannot fail to visit her bed. And if she conceives then the order will shift, the hierarchy will change. It will be Baekhyun bowing to her and he will be left in the dust.

The only way for a male concubine to have a child in this place is to steal one, either through custody of a dead concubine’s child, or through intimidation. As it stands the prince has two children, one born of a mother who died in childbirth and one of a servant girl who was not even in Minseok’s household. The son was given to Junmyeon, the daughter to Yixing, the princess’s birth mother forgotten for years until she too passed away. Baekhyun imagines she died from bitterness. He would have too if he had his hands on the one thing that could save himself in his old age and it was taken away. 

Two children now, and more surely to come in the future. Baekhyun will have to plan in advance. 

He and Kyungsoo chat for another long hour, until Sehun is yawning and the shadows grow long. Then they take their leave, Baekhyun feeling just a little more at ease.

  
  


  
  


By the time Sehun returns to her quarters, she collapses into a chair.

“Mistress?!"

“Mistress, what’s wrong?”

“Are you alright?”

Attendants rush to her side but she waves them off. Too many bodies, too many ingenuine voices, just the sound of their appeals causes Sehun’s head to swim.

“I’m alright.” She puts a hand to her forehead and hunches over. Only Sunggyu remains, the eunuch assigned to serve her when she entered the mansion. He is lazy and his etiquette is lacking, but she trusts him enough to assist her in a few small ways. “Sunggyu,” she whispers, “the medicine.”

Her fingers are shaking. Slipping the nail guards into a small dish beside her, she folds them together and hides them in the long sleeves of her gown. Already, the excuses she can give start flowing through her mind, if she were to fall ill right now. Not enough sustenance, the heat, not sleeping well enough at night. All of those at least are true. The stress of living in the prince’s mansion has always been an issue, and as one of only two female concubines—the youngest too—it is doubly hard to live here 

Sunggyu returns with a small wooden box. It’s decorated on the outside with little painted flowers, not unlike the many jewelry boxes she has in her collection. Inside, however, she takes out a rounded pill, made exclusively for her by a royal physician, and tosses it into her mouth. Sunggyu holds up a small cup of liquid to chase the bitter taste.

“Does Mistress need anything else?” he asks.

“No, Sunggyu,” she replies. She can see he is itching to leave. After all the events of the day there must be so much to gossip about with the other servants. And she knows they will gossip about her as well, make speculations about what life will be like in the Palace. If Sehun were a better mistress she’d be able to put a halt to their loose tongues, but as it is… she can barely keep a handle on herself, let alone an entire household of servants. “Some privacy, please, is all I ask.”

The concubines in this mansion are vicious. Behind their pretty smiles and delicate airs lay true monsters. Baekhyun and Kyungsoo speak so sweetly and their manners are impeccable, but it makes Sehun nauseous when she remembers how much she’s at their mercy were anything to go wrong.

The Palace, they are heading to the Imperial Palace where nobody, not them, not the other concubines, not even the prince will be able to help her. Her family aren’t as powerful as the others’ families, and she is just the lowest of the low, already a pawn no doubt in the others’ schemes. That’s why Baekhyun has taken her by the hand and promised pretty things. That’s why Kyungsoo tolerates her presence.

Standing up, Sehun kicks off her shoes and pads across the floor towards her bed. She could ask the servants to return to help her change, but instead she does it herself. She tosses as many hair ornaments as she can into a bowl, adding all her bracelets next. They look beautiful. They _are_ beautiful, made of white and green jade and so delicate they could snap in a heartbeat. Like Sehun herself. 

She was always raised to be married like this. It was her fate from the day she was born. Just how she managed to get married to a prince with five other concubines and a consort is the real question. Because she was a woman? Sehun is barely seventeen and hardly feels prepared.

The pillow at the top of her bed is cool to the touch. It does much to calm her nerves as she remembers the day she met the prince. It was from a distance. He made her heart beat and her breath stop in her chest, shrouded in soft sunlight. It was before she realized that Minseok prefered the male concubines, that he spent most of his nights with them instead. In the six months that she’s lived with the prince, he has visited her only twice.

She knows it’ll be worse in the Imperial Palace. She’s heard stories of what happens in there, all the lies and deceit, death and destruction, concubines who disappear in the night never to be heard of again. Kyungsoo has visited there before, has an aunt who serves the dying Emperor. And oh, how she can describe the Palace as a fairytale land, while hinting of the terrors within. 

If Sehun’s servants were any better trained, they would wake her up before she falls asleep. They would insist on taking down her hair and braiding it behind her back. They would wipe the paint from her cheeks and eyes and massage her aching shoulders, her legs, her ankles. 

But they do not in fact disturb her for the rest of the evening. In some small way, she is grateful.

  


   
  


Yifan walks alone in the garden at night. It’s lovelier here when there’s no one about, he thinks. The moon arcs across the cloudless sky, yearning to be full, to be complete. But it’s not there yet, like so many of the concubines busily scrambling for a plan in the hopes that their schemes will come to fruition.

Yifan walks along the low garden wall, past the fragrant array of early blooming chrysanthemums planted in every variety and color. They are Yifan’s favorites, a sign that summer is coming to an end. Will he never see these particular blooms again, and in the following summer will he be exploring different paths in the Imperial Palace instead? 

He crosses a low bridge separating two halves of the garden over the small pond and stream which runs throughout the prince’s mansion. There is a pavilion on the other side. It blocks the moonlight when Yifan steps under its shade, but the overwhelming sense of peace it affords more than makes up for it. It reminds him, like so many moments in his childhood, when he sat under one with his nannies and tutors learning so many delicate things while from a distance he could see his brothers swordfighting. Even now, when he closes his eyes he can envision their every move. It’s so ingrained in his mind, his body could still probably reproduce their steps.

Alas, that life is not for him. It never was. 

This is his life now, strolling through the prince’s garden, mulling over the things his servants heard in the day. Yifan has no interest in getting involved, but if there’s one thing he learned from his military brothers and father, it’s that knowledge is key. And Taekwoon came with Yifan to the mansion, so he understands that well. His impassive expression as he whispered secrets known only to few others should have been enough warning that there were deadly machinations underfoot. 

So Baekhyun and Kyungsoo were forming an alliance. So their servants were seen dawdling suspiciously outside the residences of both Consort Kim and Concubine Zhang. That did not surprise Yifan one bit. If there would be any turnover of power among the concubines, the fall of either Junmyeon, Yixing, or both would justify more than a minor victory for either of the two lesser ranked concubines. Even young Sehun would probably get caught up in their plans. It seemed the only concubine not under threat of a downfall just yet would be Han. But that made sense, for Han was neither overly-favored nor did he have custody of either of the prince’s children.

Not that Yifan should really care. For now, Yifan was not in danger either. If he could see out this transition to the Palace and stay out of everyone’s ways, perhaps he might live in peace for the rest of his life. If not, then what was death anyway but an escape from this wretched, unhappy world. 

A light breeze sways past the terrace of the pavilion, unhindered by the other structures. After the heat of the day, its cool breeze is comforting. Yifan is still dressed very lightly. He wears fewer layers under his dress than most of the concubines. The silk against his skin is thin and delicate without all the elaborate embroidery, a simple pattern in pale shades of blue and pink. He pulls his hands into his sleeves and wraps them around himself, leaning against a balustrade. It’s easy for him to stand. He does not wear the gem-covered platform shoes of the rest of his kind, but a light pair of silk boots. The prince thinks him quaint, but also admires his lack of artifice. It’s the one thing Yifan brings to his husband that the others do not, and so far, it has served him well. 

“Master, you are back,” Taekwoon greets Yifan when he arrives back to his rooms. Yifan lets him undress him, desiring only to slip into a pair of pajamas and lose himself in sleep. Yet Taekwoon works unhurried and Yifan does not rush him. He sits before a mirror while another maid comes to wipe his face and another brings a perfumed basin strewn with petals to soften his hands.

“Did His Highness visit anyone?” he asks.

“No, Master,” Taekwoon replies. “He dined with Consort Kim, but then returned to his own quarters. No other concubine was brought in.”

Expressionless, Yifan thinks how that will keep all the concubines wondering. Does Minseok not realize how his every decision, however minute, keeps the harem on their toes? The power he holds is incredible indeed.

 

 

 

  
  


It’s another week before Han gets to see Minseok again. One of his His Highness’s servants comes over hours in advance to give Han the news. Han puts down his embroidery, frowning at the design of his twin golden dragons. This craft has never been his strongest skill, but most of the time it is passable. He’ll have to remove the stitches and start again. Now that Minseok is Crown Prince, how could he possibly wear even a set of silk pajamas that barely marks the level of passable. He sighs, and Jongin removes the cloth. The slippery fabric rustles down the front of Han’s gown. He sighs again, louder this time. 

“Master, I will set up the bath”. 

Han forces himself to smile. “Thank you, Jongin.”

He could spend more time moping, but with the prince actually coming to his room at night, there’s no time to waste. He hears Jongin barking orders to more of Han’s maids, and within seconds they are by his side, leading him to sit before the dresser with the high-backed mirror. One by one they remove the pins from his hair, unbundling the artful knots and rolls that had been piled high on top of his head. Han must wash them tonight, every strand of his waist length perfumed black hair.

While they work he issues instructions on what snacks to provide for the prince’s delight, what tea to have ready if Han so much as looks in his servants’ direction. So much to prepare just for a single nighttime visit, but it is Han’s primary duty to do this for his prince.

Jongin wraps him in scented towels the moment he alights from the tub. Amid the heat from the water and the fragrant oils poured into it, his body feels delightful, if only for a moment. Then his skin shivers with goosebumps. He dresses quickly into a pair of two-piece silk pajamas, easy to put on, easy to remove. Jongin combs his hair, adding more aromas to it. Within the hour he is ready except for one last thing.

“Master, you must,” says Jongin when Han eyes the small bottle in his hand.

“Indeed, I know.” He sighs.  

This is his least favorite part, but vitally essential. He dismisses all the servants including Jongin. Then he ponders on life, before angling himself onto his bed and laying down. The candles that surround his bed are already dimmed and a pleasant fragrance burns from a brazier in the middle of the room. Soon… Minseok will be here and Han needs to prepare for that. His silk pants easily slip down past his hips and thighs, crinkling at his ankles when Han uncaps the bottle. He pours a small amount onto his hand before reaching behind himself, holding his breath. Then he breaches his rim with one finger, and slowly exhales.

He does this for expediency, not for pleasure. Han has schooled his body to not even feel it anymore. He keeps his eyes open, focused on a single spot on the other side of the room, ears listening for the sound of anyone approaching. There is no special mandate against doing this to oneself for self-gratification, but the taboo of it… if anyone, like the prince, were to walk in on a concubine already halfway in the throes of his own pleasure, or even the appearance of it. And Han’s priority is to his prince, not himself.

By the time he hears of the prince’s arrival, Han is sitting up in bed, properly dressed and waiting. He smiles, and it’s more than halfway genuine.

“Good evening, Jongin,” comes the prince’s voice just outside the steps of Han’s abode.

“Your Highness,” returns the servant. “Please, Concubine Lu has been awaiting you. Right this way.”

Minseok’s soft chuckle echoes throughout the antechamber as he bypasses Jongin. “I think I can find my way, Jongin.”

Han stands, and only Minseok appears.

It reminds him of his very first night. Although, _every_ night with Minseok reminds Han of their first night together, when Han was the blushing bride, face hidden behind a shower of silk which Minseok so tenderly removed. There’s nothing like that between them now, except a handful of other brides and now also a throne. Still, Han’s smile is genuine and Minseok looks radiant. His face takes on the blush and shadows of the candlelight, stress wrinkles immediately smoothing when Han beckons him to sit on the bed. Without asking, Han presses his palms to the back of the prince’s shoulders. Minseok automatically moans in relief.

“I’ve been away from your side too long, Han. You always give the best massages.”

Inwardly Han preens with deep satisfaction, but he keeps his voice light and flirty. “Among other things too, I hope, Your Highness.”

Minseok chuckles, but a moment later Han finds another series of knots just below his neckline and the prince’s eyes roll back, head dangerously close to falling onto Han’s shoulder. He rights himself before that happens, tenses his shoulder, then shuffles to the side with a deep, longing sigh.

“Does something trouble you, Your Highness?” 

Han should be a loving, supportive concubine, there for his prince’s every mood but it’s hard to focus sometimes when Minseok looks at him like he’s the most precious thing in the world, the _only_ thing, which Han is not.

“A great many things of course, now that the situation… has changed. But nothing too pressing at the moment. Tell me, Han, what do the concubines make of our fortunes?” The way he says ‘fortunes’ sounds like a joke, and yet the question is earnest. Han has known Minseok long enough to recognize a serious inquiry. Answering, however, is another matter entirely.

“Your Highness, I would not know, though of course I have prayed and thanked the ancestors for this blessing in the temple daily. Consort Kim is a more suitable person to ask, he—”

“I’m not asking Consort Kim, I’m asking you.”

For a measured several seconds, Han looks down at his hands where they rest lightly on his thighs. Minseok follows his gaze, takes one of his hands and caresses it. Han resists shivering, for that gesture alone is more than enough to make him weak. Minseok, when he’s feeling intimate, can do that him in a heartbeat.

“Your Highness—” 

“Call me prince for a little while yet, Han, please,” Minseok asks soothingly.

Han smiles and averts his eyes, lashes fluttering from exhilaration, though he cannot fool Minseok. “My prince,” he begins, and Minseok drops one of his hands to reach for his cheek instead, angling Han’s face back to his where Han cannot escape. “My prince, I cannot speak for the others, but for myself I know… I know you will be a most excellent, splendid ruler.”

Minseok smiles. “And? What else?” He’s leaning closer, covering the distance between them second by agonizing second.

“And…” Han’s words are cut off when their lips first meet. It’s a chaste kiss, but one that promises more to come. Minseok releases his lips but continues to hold his face.

“And?”

Another kiss, before he lets Han speak. 

“And a most… most wonderful… lover.”

“Even better than I am now?” teases Minseok, stray hand skirting down to Han’s hip where the fabric of his pajamas is riding low.

Han smiles into their next kiss, breath desperately giving out as Minseok shuffles even closer. “Your—  My prince, I shall have to withhold judgment until that can be verified.”

“Then do that, Han, and remember… you must be honest with me.” Spoken like a man who already knows what the answer will be. And Han, as he wriggles out of his clothes, knows that Minseok could never be any less than what he is right now. In court, the prince is a dominating man with a deceptively shy, sly composition. In bed, however, Minseok gives as much as he would take. Laying on his back, all clothing removed, Han gets a good look from where he perches over the prince’s toned, shapely thighs. The contours of his chest, his clavicles, the hollow ridge beneath his jaw when he arches his back to reveal his neck for one brief, vulnerable moment. Then his hands are on Han’s hips, guiding him forward until he’s in position. Han, the moment he sits atop Minseok’s hardened cock, sighs long and deeply, inching himself down as his body opens up.

He knows he looks a dream. Every part of Han’s daily, bodily regimen is designed for this exact thing. Hair fluttering behind him, skin glossed with lotions and oil, muscles firm yet pliant, if this is all Han ever amounts to in life then at this moment he can’t say he’s disappointed in himself. Slowly, he rides the prince, drawing great satisfaction when Minseok finally comes undone. Their groans echo in tandem, growing louder, their bodies faster, until Minseok’s hips stutter through the last throes of his pleasure. Han barely maintains his own release, holding back until the prince dislodges him with one long movement. He lands on his side, crying from a combination of frustration and barely contained pleasure. But Minseok doesn’t make him wait much longer. He crawls over Han’s sprawled, straining body, pumping the very last of his release onto Han’s stomach at the same moment he wraps a hand around Han’s cock. 

“Come now,” he whispers. “I want to see you. I want to hear your voice.”

Han cries even as he nods, body spasming at last, and all the way the through it, Minseok is there.

It’s easy, nights like this, for Han to forget he is only one of a half dozen other lovers. Easy to forget, but happy to suspend reality at least for minutes likes these, when the prince is but a man and they are but two satisfied lovers. When their breaths are caught, Minseok alights from the bed and fetches two discretely placed robes for them to wear. He helps Han out of the bed, kisses his face, wraps his arm around Han’s shoulders as they hobble towards a little table. Han lifts his head and two servants enter immediately with the prepared tea and treats. Then he serves the prince, blushing all the way through the evening snack at the way Minseok keeps a hand on him at all times, sometimes on his knee, sometimes his thigh.

_Do you love me?_ Han wants to ask him. _Do you love me like you love all the others?_

He never does ask of course, even as he persuades himself that Minseok must, he just must like Han enough to spend such time with him, curling back into bed together when their stomachs are sated and sleep draws them in.

Morning will come soon enough. Morning with its harsh sunlight pushing all of Han’s fancies out with the shadows.

 

 

  
  
  


The receiving room in Junmyeon’s quarters is quite possibly the most exquisite suite in the prince’s entire palace, and Junmyeon rules it with all the finesse of his station, and soon-to-be-station. He sits on the highest deck facing the rest of the concubines who are aligned, seated in two columns of chairs according to rank. Yixing holds the first chair, and across from him sits Han. Behind them come Yifan and Baekhyun, then Kyungsoo and Sehun. Each of their primary servants stand behind their chairs, ready to assist their masters or mistresses at a moment’s notice.

Junmyeon smiles at each one in turn as they greet him. He knows them all so well. Perhaps he knows them too well. The men and women who sit before him are Junmyeon’s duty to supervise, to assess, to coax, or to keep in line. It’s not an easy task now, and it won’t get any easier in the Imperial Harem.

“We are blessed to be drinking this tea this morning,” he starts out pleasantly. “It was a gift to the Crown Prince from his brother Prince Changmin. I believe he brought it back from…” Junmyeon artfully pauses to glance at Minho standing beside him, “the western mountains? Yes, the leaves, I’m told, are harvested just before snowfall when they’re at their best.” 

Baekhyun, ever one to make a challenge, bows his head. “We are thus honored you are sharing it with us, Consort. How wonderful that our prince has gifted it to you. It does indeed have a pleasant aroma. Wouldn’t you agree, Kyungsoo?” He nods at his fellow concubine who barely inclines her head in return. 

Junmyeon holds back a pinched smile. Then again, what else are such gifts for except to be displayed, the rare tea leaves to be offered up like a mere trifle. It’ll take Junmyeon every ounce of strength to remind the concubines who is Consort, and who is the only legal spouse among them. 

Satisfied for now that his authority has been expressed and appreciated, he turns to a new subject. 

“Concubine Zhang, we haven’t seen the princess in some time. I trust she is well?” 

Yixing smiles politely and replies, “I’m afraid she has the tiniest of colds at the moment.” 

“Oh no,” says Junmyeon with an even tone. “Has a physician been to see her?”

“Yes, one of the court physicians has been to see her. I have no doubt she’ll be on her feet in a matter of days.”

“That is wonderful to hear. And concubine, if you are in any way worried to be apart from her, as I know I would be if my dear son were ill, you must not worry about offending us, and do go back to your quarters to care for her!”

“You are most kind, Consort. She is sleeping this morning, but I will not tarry long, according to your instructions.”

One of the other concubines snickers from the back. Junmyeon looks sharply in their direction, but he can’t tell which it might be. Either Baekhyun or Kyungsoo, possibly Sehun. Junmyeon can’t pretend they aren’t ever together, tittering about one thing or another, probably about himself and the airs he puts on.

Does Junmyeon sound so insufferable? He imagines he must. But these are not his friends, and however they might call each other brother and sister, they are not true family, and they owe each other nothing. The only thing that links them is their service to the prince and to the reputation of his household. A consort does not just speak to them directly, nor can they speak so candidly to him. It’s all a game, and a dangerous one at that. Junmyeon might prefer the company of Yixing, Han or even Yifan because they are better mannered and less troublesome, but that doesn’t mean they are safe. As for the other three… well, Junmyeon pities Sehun her lowly position, but what is one to do anyways, when the prince himself does not favor her, and Junmyeon must takes his cues from Minseok before acting. On the other hand, if he does not do something about Sehun, she will be swallowed up by the other two…

By the time the concubines are dismissed and gone, Junmyeon sits alone upon his chair with just Minho beside him. 

“Master?”

“I have a headache, Minho.” Gone is his pleasant, overly haughty tone of voice. If to no one else, Junmyeon can speak plainly to his servant.

“I will brew you another tea.”

“Do it, then.” Junmyeon waves Minho away when he comes to help him off the deck. After having to be so damned pleasant all morning, it’s a relief he can act as grumpy as he feels. Minho won’t take it personally. In fact, it’s his job not to.

“What did you make of Baekhyun today?” he asks instead, after Minho has dispatched orders to bring the tea. 

Carefully, the servant responds. “Concubine Byun was… I think a little too pleased with himself today.”

“He was,” Junmyeon agrees. “He is up to something, no doubt.” 

During the reception Baekhyun had been particularly sly, complimenting everyone from Yixing for his headdress to Han’s lovely gown, all the way down to how radiant Sehun was looking these days and how she was sure to be noticed by Minseok for it, because ‘after all, what are our fortunes without the favor of our beloved prince.’ The fact that Yixing’s hair ornaments today were decidedly plain, and that once you observed it closely the embroidery on Han’s gown was a mite bit poor quality, only belied the concubine’s words. But then Baekhyun did have a knack for words, and using them well to inflict small pain.

Minho nods. “If you will allow me, I can send someone to observe him.” 

“Fine,” says Junmyeon. “Be sure they are not caught.”  That needn’t be said probably, but Junmyeon is tired and he has a headache and a desire to hear himself talk.

“I’ll send Taemin, master.”

“Good.”

Junmyeon moves to resituate into the interior room. Sitting on his bed, he rolls his head a few times to work out the cricks in his neck. Not half an hour later, Taemin returns to inform his master that indeed, Kyungsoo was overheard to be talking about some plan on the way home with Baekhyun, that it involved Sehun as well, and that apparently... it is working.

Junmyeon nods and yawns at the same time. It’s no less than he expects. If the concubines aren’t up to something every day, then his role as their rule-keeper is essentially useless. “Can you get a spy into Kyungsoo’s service?” he asks Minho later.

The servant pauses, but then his grin turns luminous. “Of course, master. Of course I can.”

  
  
  


 

  
  


Late into the night, Chanyeol struggles to contain his yawns. He stands instead completely upright, hands hovering over the ink pot, body swaying so minutely beside the Crown Prince’s desk that it goes unnoticed, until several of his knee joints crack and the prince looks sharply upwards.

“Chanyeol?” he looks on disapprovingly.

“Your Highness, forgive me! I—” 

His words fail him even as the prince blinks and looks around. “He holds up a hand to stop him and says, softly, “Enough, Chanyeol, it’s alright. I hadn’t realized how late it was.” Candles flicker from around the room, lit by servants Minseok hadn’t even seen.

Chanyeol bows graciously low. “Your Highness, if I may… your letters will still be here tomorrow. You should retire for the night.” 

“You are right, as always, Chanyeol. I should.” 

The eunuch backs away when the prince stands up, gaze downcast but eyes flashing up from beneath his eyelashes, ready as ever to attend to the prince’s every whim. “Will Your Highness ask me to inform Consort, or one of the concubines?”

Minseok shakes his head. “No, not tonight, I think. It is already late. I’ll just return to my rooms”

Chanyeol frowns. “I could have one of them attend to you there—”

Again, the prince stops him, and this time Chanyeol does not press him. Instead he follows Minseok just several paces behind, silently and efficiently signaling the rest of his unobtrusive army of servants to finish up here for the night. Candles flicker out behind them, curtains are held open before the prince. A small woman stands ready in the prince’s quarters with a basin of scented water. When Minseok does not even glance at her, Chanyeol waves her out and takes the basin himself.

 The prince, Chanyeol thinks as he helps him undress, has been stressed of late. Not that anyone is surprised, least of all Chanyeol. The eunuch has been with Minseok since they were both boys. He flatters himself that knows him the best; he knows the prince better than Consort Kim and all of the concubines combined. So he’s not surprised when Minseok sits on his bed, ready to fall asleep, yet completely awake, asking, “Prince Kangin’s letter, Chanyeol, what do you make of it?” 

The eunuch gulps, thinking deeply before answering. “He is testing you, Your Highness.”

Minseok hums. “And the news about Prince Sungmin?” 

“Likely true. They share the same mother, their blood is thick. If they are not in this together, I should be highly surprised.” 

Not a day after news of Minseok’s appointment as Crown Prince was announced, there was word from the border of unrest. Prince Kangin, as a military commander, was expected to ride post haste and assess the situation. Yet he had not, and his excuse was flimsy at best. Chanyeol, and the prince too, thought this highly suspicious.

 “He won’t leave the capital,” Minseok muses. “That is… troubling.”

“But you agree that his sending Prince Sungmin instead is but a smokescreen?”

In front of others, Chanyeol would never be so bold to suggest royal intrigue about the emperor’s own sons, but here it is allowed. _Minseok_ allows it.

“I know it is. And I know their aim. Kangin will not go far with the emperor so ill, not at this particular time. And yet… and yet, I wish I knew of their plans. If my half-brother really conspires to take the throne, it will set more things off balance than my own mere ambitions.”

 Chanyeol nods at this, amused even at the thought of the Crown Prince having _ambitions_ , when he suspects everyone, including the emperor himself, would agree that Prince Minseok had been the least ambitious of all the princes. At least outwardly. Chanyeol’s hunch is that is why Minseok had been picked in the first place. He is capable, yet not overbearing, proud, but not stubborn. Even an unbiased man, which Chanyeol admits he is not, might see that Minseok is the best prince to serve the realm.  

“Your Highness, might I suggest… Concubine Do’s half-sister is married to Prince Kangin. Might you not use that alliance to get a feel for the situation?” 

Minseok sighs. “I have already considered that, of course. The problem is that while the Dos are a powerful enough family their domain is not militarily… "

Chanyeol furrows his brow, brain already working on overdrive for how he might best serve his prince. “Then, perhaps, going about this another way… Two ways, in fact.”

Minseok suddenly chuckles, sending Chanyeol up short. “You are thinking the same thing as I, aren’t you, Chanyeol?”

“Your Highness?" 

“Astute as ever, aren’t you. Spare me the headache in pronouncing it. What say you?”

The eunuch, suddenly aflutter, hastens to obey. “Your Highness, you have not one, but two, possible connections in which to deal with this matter. Concubine Do’s sister is one, but Concubine Wu is another. His family have the military influence which the Dos do not. If you… pit the two against one another, it would not only keep Prince Kangin wary, but also maintain a tension between those two families, which brooks balance.”

“An excellent suggestion. Remind me tomorrow to attend to this matter—Oh! I almost forgot. Duke Luo’s letter. My cousin requests a visit, he should be here in a fortnight. Will you make the arrangements?" 

“Of course, Your Highness. Should I… seek help from Consort Kim?”

Minseok appears to think about it. Hand on his brow, a stressed expression, sleep nagging at his conscience, Chanyeol is reminded by how young he is, that no matter how many perplexing quandaries the prince is expected to solve, after all that he is just a man. “No… have Concubine Zhang assist. I remember their families were well acquainted before he came into my household. No doubt the duke will appreciate that. Chanyeol, I have had a sudden change of mind. Send a runner to Baekhyun’s quarters.”

“I will.” Chanyeol bows, musing one last time that yes, the prince is indeed _a man_. With a man’s needs.

Chanyeol of course wouldn’t know. He sees about the runner, then attends to a few more things, biding his time until scurrying into the shadows when the young concubine appears. 

“My prince?” Baekhyun’s sweet voice bounces through the room, his perfume even more saccharine. Both send a wave of nausea through the eunuch’s nostrils and down into his gut. Chanyeol trusts few people, and those people of Baekhyun’s disposition, he trusts even less. Yet what is he to do when they seek to satisfy his master, and apparently satisfy him well. Chanyeol steps out of the line of vision, yet he cannot shut off his ears.

“My prince, wouldn’t you like me to take care of you?” Baekhyun’s knees when they hit the ground, cause a small, perilously balanced vase beside the prince’s bed to overturn. Later on Chanyeol will have to clean up the spilled flowers and the water now dripping onto the floor. In the meantime, he’s subjected to Minseok’s soft groans and appreciative murmuring. Baekhyun... is _not_ so demur in the voicing department.

  
  
  


 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: 
> 
> Murder of an unknown person  
> Blatant scheming tactics employed
> 
> **Important PSA** Minseok is a rich, entitled prince, soon to be the most entitled (literally) person in the world. He acts like a jerk in this chapter. Kindly remember that there is still room for character development. Thank you.

The soft strings of music waft across the garden, accompanied by delicate singing. Moonlight filters through the terrace rooftop and casts short shadows upon the ground. It’s in between these shadows that small figure quickly steps. 

A cat cries and hisses, someone knocks over a vase. The music stops. 

“Yixing?” asks a male voice.

“Hush, I heard something,” comes the response.

The concubine appears in the doorway of his manor, arms braced against the side of the frame, head searching. 

“It was nothing, Yixing… Now come back. Finish your song.”

“It was  _ not _ nothing, Zhixiang! But… well, perhaps…” When there are no further sounds out of the ordinary, his shoulders slump. “Perhaps I am too paranoid.”

“You are, surely.”

His figure disappears from the archway, but two eyes in the darkness follow his steps by his silhouette through the screens. 

Yixing resumes his song, but his voice no longer carries the same clear tone as before. He puts down the instrument and sighs. With a little coaxing he resumes, and a second silhouette approaches where he sits. 

“Zhixiang, no,” says the concubine, stopping his song once again. The half-finished lyrics of unrequited love echo eerily in the divide. 

The other man chuckles. “What? I’m not even allowed to fix your hair trinket? It is falling off… There.”

Yixing allows it, but there’s a further hesitation in his voice when he speaks again. “You should not approach me so closely, Zhixiang, let alone touch my headdress, or my hand. Please, not here… there are too many potential eyes and ears.”

After a long sigh, the duke moves away and sits off by himself. Yixing picks up his instrument and begins another song. This time he doesn’t sing, he only plays, but the unassuming melody invokes the pains of yet another tragic love story. The shadows outside are silent. The tree leaves dance in the breeze off time to the music. A second intruder stands stealthily in the darkness of a low wall, then crouches down deep. 

“Yixing…” says the man inside the manor, sensually, longingly.

When the song is over, Yixing sighs and puts down his instrument once again. “I am a royal concubine, Zhixiang. I… truly… you should not have visited…”

“But…”

“You must leave soon. Give the prince any excuse you wish, but… please… it’s too hard for me, and you know I dare not risk anything. My… daughter is completely dependent on me.”

“Yixing, she’s not your actual daughter—”

“What does that matter?” Yixing’s voice booms, thunderous. “She  _ is _ my daughter, and even if I wished to risk my own life, I will do nothing that may cause her harm. This discussion is over. Please, go back to your quarters now.”

Moments later, Duke Luo exits with an entourage of one. The only things that move are the breeze, and the flowers, and the trees. 

Quiet crying echoes from inside the manor. Later on, a little girl cries out from her dreams, followed by the quick rush of footsteps and some cooing as a father rocks his child back to sleep.

The first shadow intruder turns from the garden. 

But the second one moves faster. Something glints in the moonlight, a man gasps. Then the body falls backward, blood spurting from his throat. Eyes frozen in shock, he gurgles once, hands sputtering for a savior that never comes. And as he dies, his eyes fall shut, his body spasms one last time, then all is still. 

The shadows remain silent as a lone figure hastily retreats, dagger discarded, silk robes swishing across the ground. 

  
  
  
  


  
  
  


Han beats his fan furiously across his face. His pores are sweating, and he’d like nothing else but to return to his room. Instead, he and half the prince’s concubines are spending the afternoon wandering the garden that spans the mansion. It’s a family playdate for the young prince and princess. Five-year-old Jongdae and three-year-old Liyin sit happily in the middle of the gathering, the prince playing contentedly by himself, Liyin being supported by her nanny. The two toddlers are honestly adorable. It’s one of the few reasons Han always accepts Junmyeon’s invitation. And along with Yixing who stands beside his servant, and Han, Yifan is also there. So are Kyungsoo and Sehun and all their attendants. Baekhyun, everyone was pleased to hear, pleaded ill from a headache he apparently acquired earlier in the day. Certainly that makes the outing less lively, but less stressful in the long run. 

It doesn’t help the heat, however. Han’s feet are beginning to ache, but he meanders with Junmyeon as they make their way to some shade, grateful for anything to cut the sun’s rays.

“Yixing looks tired today,” says the consort. His lips twitch but his smile is plastered into that look of familiar, practiced pleasantry. 

Han hums. It’s dangerous to say anything out loud, but he too noticed it earlier. Yixing’s eyes droop low, and his face is gaunt. He smiles at the princess but only when she is looking, and then goes glum again when she turns away. 

“Perhaps it is the heat,” says Han. 

Junmyeon doesn’t reply. 

Yifan is standing a little way off, but close enough to overhear should he be paying attention. Beyond him, Kyungsoo chit-chats with Sehun in the shade of another low tree. The two women are practically arm-in-arm today, Han notes and he files that away for some other time. Tonight he has an invitation to attend to the prince in Minseok’s own quarters. He hasn’t the time to be worrying about the other concubines. 

He stretches just a little, then politely yawns. Even if Han is here now primarily to accompany Junmyeon, the consort’s first priority is to his son so they don’t have much in the way of conversation to share. Jongdae plays with a ball. Every now and then he tries to roll it to Liyin in the sweetest, most gentle manner. The princess though has never once succeeded in rolling it back. After a dozen occasions where her nanny or another servant, and occasionally even Yixing himself, run to fetch the ball, Jongdae gives up. While Liyin toddles around after flowers, Jongdae begins a mock battle with a small shrubbery.

“Careful, little prince!” Junmyeon calls after him. “There’s a… oh, well… looks like he’s discovered the dirt there after all. Minho? I believe it’s time to retire.”

The servant bows and runs to the little boy. Kyungsoo sighs loudly and dramatically in relief. She’s been furiously fanning herself this whole time with an air of supreme dissatisfaction.

Yixing steps up as well. “Liyin?” He calls. The princess either does not hear him or else ignores him completely. With her nanny two steps behind her, she continues her exploration of the garden flowers. 

“Pretty,” she coos with a tiny voice at one particularly vibrant summer blossom which grows just beyond the first line of pots. She stumbles and falls. Her gown now soiled, Liyin still hasn’t noticed anything but the flowers which she crawls towards. 

“Liyin!” shouts Yixing. The little girl has reached the plant, but her eyes are glued suddenly to the shadows beneath a low wall separating this garden from another. 

“Liyin?”

It’s a fine moment between the princess’s curiosity, and sudden terror. Without warning, the little girl shrieks and tumbles backwards onto her hands and bottom. Half the concubines’ hands dart to their ears to blot out the cries, the other half runs immediately to her. Someone gasps, then another servant woman shrieks out in surprise, another in horror. 

“Call the prince!” Junmyeon pushes past everyone, Han right on his heels. Yixing is kneeling in the dirt with Liyin sobbing into his chest. His hands rush to sooth her back and head, but his eyes are wide open in shock. 

“Nobody touch him!” Junmyeon orders again. Han can’t see what he’s looking at directly, but as the consort directs everybody back, there, hiding at the back of the garden, is the unmistakable figure of a dead body. 

“What happened?” 

“Who is it!?” 

“Does anyone know who he is?”

Han gets a glimpse of black robes on the corpse. Kyungsoo is holding onto Sehun who looks like she’s about to be sick. Yixing hasn’t moved from the ground, Liyin’s sobs haven’t subsided. She thrashes around in the concubine’s arms to no effect. Yifan stands awkwardly behind them both looking like he doesn’t know what to do.

“Give her to me,” says Han suddenly. 

“What?” Yixing doesn’t appear to understand. 

“The princess. Let me hold her.”

Han has never seen Yixing this troubled, or this unconcerned about his daughter. But when Junmyeon seconds Han’s suggestion, Han reaches down and pulls the sobbing child into his arms. Yixing barely objects. Minho has already born the little prince away so he would not be affected by the sight. 

The rest is a blur. Minseok arrives with half of his retinue, Chanyeol at his side while they stare at the grim scene and ask questions of the people still gathered. Han ignores everything and wanders off, bouncing the princess in his arms until her wailing turns to soft little sobs. On the other side of the courtyard, Yixing’s servant Sooyoung is gathering the concubine off the ground. Sehun is finally retching into a pot. Kyungsoo bears her away as quickly as possible. 

“Does anyone know him?” Han overhears the prince asking. 

He gets nothing but head shakes and soft murmurings “no”. 

Liyin huffs loudly and begins to sob a new. 

“Hush, hush, little one…” Han repeats to her, over and over… “Hush, now, you’re safe…” 

Ages later, it seems, he hands her over to Sooyoung. The concubines have dispersed, only he and Junmyeon and the prince remain. Junmyeon’s face is ashen, but he stays nevertheless to watch the mansion’s guards drag out the body which has been stabbed through in the back. 

Chanyeol observes everything with a grim sort of determination. 

“That is Yixing’s courtyard, behind here, is it not?” he asks the prince and Junmyeon. 

Han pauses… putting two and two together… 

But someone pulls at his arm. “What?”

Jongin coughs apologetically. “Master, we should go.”

It’s with regret that Han agrees. The prince hasn’t even noticed him, there’s an unknown body dead in the courtyard, a murderer somewhere on the loose. Half the household has been upset or sent into tremors of anxiety.

“And this is only the beginning, Jongin,” he says. 

“What, master?”

“Hush now, never mind.”

 

  
  
  
  


 

At the back of the prince’s quarters is a room few are allowed to enter. The Head Eunuch mostly, one or two other servants, but only briefly and never when the prince is there at the same time. It’s a room for the prince himself of course and the occasional sibling who comes to visit, the ones Minseok can semi-trust not to stab him in the back; sometimes a favorite concubine. It’s a quiet space, small in size, completely shielded from the light with decorative paper screens. It contains a bed Minseok doesn’t sleep in, a little table he rarely uses, and two small chairs. Beside the table is a cupboard with some of the prince’s treasures, including correspondence letters he deems important enough to save, not important enough to keep with the rest of his scrolls in his study. 

This is the room he comes into to meditate, to think, to pray; the room he retreats into where the unspoken rule is that he is never to be disturbed.

He stands there now, fists balled in tension, anger barely kept in check. 

“Chanyeol!” he shouts, after minutes upon minutes of silence. He knows the eunuch has been waiting on the other side of the doorway. He expects nothing less. 

“Your Highness.”

After deliberating all evening, Minseok has finally come to a decision.

“This… matter…” He waves one hand around airily, as if he could make light of a man’s death as easily as a that. He can actually; he will. “There’ll be no need to report this outside of the mansion. If rumors do leak out, it’s of no consequence. Make sure none of our retainers are questioned by anyone. Send a message to Junmyeon, he is to make sure the concubines also do not let this out. If anyone outside asks, we will say it’s an accident, a servant slipped in the night.” He pauses. “What I am most concerned about is Duke Luo. I like the man, I really do. But he is still a guest with us, at least until he leaves tomorrow, and we cannot be sure they will not hear about this and spread rumors.”

Chanyeol hums in agreement. “Your Highness is concerned that the Palace will suspect something nefarious?”

“No, not entirely. I’m more concerned about my brothers. What I’m  _ most _ concerned about is if this isn’t something related to one of them. Chanyeol, you said you’ve investigated and now know who this man was?”

The eunuch nods. “I do.” 

“Tell me.”

Minseok prepares himself for the worst. 

Chanyeol clears his throat before speaking, hastily, a little apologetically. “He was Concubine Byun’s servant, one of his newest attendants. Came into the mansion a bare ten days ago. I myself interviewed him then. He claimed to have been transferred here by Lord Byun, and the paper trail checked out as so.”

Minseok nods and muses aloud, stroking his lower jaw as he paces the room. “And now he is found dead. Ten days ago, that is as long as he lasted. Tell me, Chanyeol, why was a servant of my concubine killed outside the courtyard of my other concubine? Is the location an accident? The murder surely wasn’t. Who might have done it, do you think, and why?”

The eunuch shuffles his feet and frowns apologetically. “Your Highness, his name I can tell you and his associations, but beyond that I am ignorant.”

Minseok smiles. “I’ll want to see Baekhyun, tomorrow. If he is feeling well. Perhaps I should visit him tonight.”

“Your Highness hasn’t forgotten Concubine Lu Han is to attend you this evening,” says Chanyeol hastily.

“Hm? Oh, of course not. Send him here, Chanyeol, when he arrives.” 

The eunuch bows once and retreats. 

  
  
  


 

  
  
  
  


Minseok is studying a letter when Han comes in. He puts it down and smiles, instantly patting the spot beside him for Han to perch on. 

“You’ve come at last,” says Minseok dreamily, playfully. 

Han bows before approaching him all the way. “Your Highness knows exactly when I was due here. If you are like this all night, I can only assume you are good spirits in spite of the day, and then I will think my company is not actually needed.” 

Minseok chuckles and wraps his arm around the concubine. “You mock me, Han.”

“Then is Your Highness instead only mocking me, feigning a good mood just to fool and flatter me?” Han smiles so prettily. Minseok is delighted by their game. 

“Perhaps it’s even simpler than that. Perhaps  _ you _ are the one who is flattering, and I am the prince whose mood is improved by your company.”

“Not just a prince, but a  _ Crown _ Prince, Your Highness,” Han stresses playfully. 

“Even when I am Emperor, I will still enjoy your company.” Minseok leans into the concubine and gives him a soft peck on the cheek. Han smells of one of Minseok’s favorite scents, rosewater and cardamon, something he’s come to associate only with Han. The man’s hair is still halfway bound with pins and jewels, but nothing the prince can’t easily remove himself. His silks are soft and also easy to remove, not the formal gown he wore earlier today. Minseok’s helps himself to the sleeve of Han’s right shoulder, pulling it down and revealing some skin, which he also kisses softly. 

Han’s breath hitches so lightly Minseok almost misses it. So the prince kisses him again, a little higher, then again in the bow of his neck. He abandons the sleeve to gravity and reaches instead for the concubine’s chest, running his hand beneath the silk as his fingers dance across the newly bared skin. Still kissing Han’s neck, then the side of his jaw, he brushes a nipple deliberately. The concubine keens under his hand, back arching slightly, mouth falling open with another long, airy sigh.

Minseok begins nudging him to lean over, Han’s body and hair spills out onto the bed and Minseok follows, crawling slowly over his torso, still kissing whatever his lips can reach. He pauses with his tongue out, eyes lengthening upwards to where the concubine’s head has fallen back, eyes closed, and whispers something about how beautiful he is. 

“Even when I’m an old, old emperor, Han, I’m still going to enjoy your company,” he says, before capturing the man’s reddened nipple. 

Han gasps again, body finally coming undone. Small trembles build in his legs and his arms, his breath coming quicker, shorter. There’s a sheen of sweat on his brow and his chest cavity beats from the quick rhythm of his heart. It’s this that Minseok loves so much, how easily his concubines fall apart, how trusting, how devoted, how beautiful they are as a canvas for Minseok’s desires. 

And then Han whispers something so softly Minseok strains to hear it. Two words which cause his heart to catch and his blood slowly to boil, not out of pleasure but because of a concubine’s doubt: Han echoing a sentiment which destroys the whole purpose of their little game.  “Will you?”

Minseok chases his release swiftly following those words. He snags the silk and pulls it from Han’s laying form, pries open his legs and eases himself inside. Han’s desire is evident, his cock half hard, his face still beautifully clenching from sensations which overwhelm him. But something in Minseok’s head has already snapped. He thrusts into him relentlessly, mouth pulled tight with a frown Han cannot see. In a manner of minutes he feels the burn of impending release, and lets himself go, filling the concubine with his seed but then pulling abruptly out. Come washes back onto the silk bed throw, but Minseok is already standing. He grabs his earlier discarded robe, turns his back from the still unsatisfied concubine, and ties it angrily around his waist. 

Just like that Han realizes he’s done something wrong. Minseok hears the man’s knees hit the floor in anguish. He’s already dreading the impending words of penitence. 

“Your Highness! I’ve displeased you! Forgive me! I did not mean—I do not understand—Your Highness, please, what…” He begins to sob. 

Minseok faces him with a stern face. The concubine’s head lays on the ground beside his hands, his knees bent under his body. None of his clothes made it off the bed, but his fallen hair shields part of his nakedness. Prostrate like this, and pitiful, some of Minseok’s anger burns away. He doesn’t respond though, instead letting the concubine cool down to the sounds of his own tears. After minutes of this, Han dares to look up and starts again.

“Your Highness?”

He cannot even leave until Minseok has dismissed him. 

“Get up, Han. Put your clothes back on. I would speak to you before you go.”

The concubine obeys dutifully, though his sniffling is still there. It occurs to Minseok that it’s possible Han might actually love him. Then again it’s more possible that he’s only worried about losing favor with the prince, as most concubines are. When he’s dressed, Minseok hands him a second robe, something warmer than what he came in earlier. The night has cooled since Han’s arrival and Minseok cares about him; he’s his concubine after all, and he doesn’t want to see any harm come to him.  _ Any _ of them. 

“Sit over there, please.” Minseok indicates a chair. As for himself he stands, arms entwined behind his back as he ruminates the best way to go about this. 

“I want you to do something for me.” 

“Your Highness, anything,” says Han. 

Minseok nods. “Good. Then when I tell you you must be completely honest with me, you’ll do so? No more games, no lies, no pretty words to mask the truth?”

The concubine gulps, but his head wobbles decisively yes. His eyes are still red and some of the paint around them has washed away. In Han’s distress it gives him a curiously genuine appearance, not one Minseok is prone to seeing from the too perfect too beautiful members of his harem. Minseok smiles.

“Answer these questions then for me. Why would a servant of this household be found dead, inside the manor?”

Han’s eyes widen in surprise, as Minseok guessed they would. The concubine would not have expected this line of questions at all. “Make a guess, if that’s all you know?” he prompts.

Han swallows heavily and lowers his eyes. “He… might have been in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“And? Go on?”

“He might have seen something he shouldn’t?”

“Like what, Han?”

For a second there’s a streak of fear in the concubine’s eyes, as if deducing Minseok’s questions are to put suspicions on him. Except Minseok doesn’t have that idea. “I told you to speak freely, this is not an interrogation, Han.”

The relief is palpable, but not entirely gone. He can practically see the thoughts formulating in the concubine’s brain. 

“Your Highness,” says the man.

“Yes?”

“Your Highness…” Han stalls again.

“I remember once telling you to address me as  _ prince _ , while we are alone.”

“My prince,” Han switches easily. “I can hazard a guess about why that man died just not by whom.”

“Then say it.”

“I cannot, my prince.”

Minseok’s eyebrows flare up, his temper suddenly on fire. “You will.”

“I cannot.”

“Why not?!” Minseok bears down on him, drawing only momentary satisfaction at the concubine’s unease. Shockingly, Han does not sink down or fall back to his knees as Minseok expected he would. 

“Because I am only speculating at this point, and I cannot, will not, use speculation to bring down a brother or sister concubine inside this estate. My prince, I know you suspect and anticipate that each of us will be scheming for a greater position inside the Imperial Harem, and I  _ know _ it will happen, believe me I do. I am not innocent of the ways of the world, though my family has no great position. But it is partly that which has kept them safe in the capital, and it is their motto which begs me tell you that  _ I will not participate  _ in that, not here, not in the Palace, nor will I aid or bring down another concubine with my words, no, not even to you. Please, forgive me that I cannot answer.” 

When he is done, the concubine stares defiantly at Minseok at the same time he finally slides off the chair and back to his knees. Then he lowers his head. 

Minseok stares at the back of his head for a long moment, his bubbling rage cooling and exchanging for another emotion entirely. Respect. He never knew Han had it in him. But his words only make sense, especially with what had happened earlier,  _ if  _ his sentiments are truly sincere. Minseok thinks now the likelihood they are is pretty good, otherwise he’ll have to file Han away as a terrific actor. He thinks he knows just the way to confirm this too.

“Do you love me, Lu Han?”

The concubine’s shocked face pops up in fear and awe, just the reaction Minseok thought he would get. 

“My… prince, what?”

Minseok walks towards him, bends down and crouches just inches away from Han’s pretty, tear-stricken face. 

“Do you love me?” he whispers in all seriousness. 

Han’s eyelashes flicker, his lower lip trembling. He looks away, but Minseok draws his chin forward again with just the lightest touch of his thumb. Han breathes, inhaling once, then exhaling. Finally he whispers back, “Yes… my prince.”

Minseok smiles. He draws Han’s face to his, pecks his lips softly as he had done earlier, then despite his earlier misgivings tells the concubine with real sincerity, “Good. Now you must do something else for me. Han?”

The man nods shakily; he’s holding his breath.

“The things I tell you, you must never doubt me again.” 

And, just to seal the promise, he draws his concubine up to his feet and back towards the bed, intending this time to treat him better. 

  
  
  
  


 

  
  
  
  


In the days following the discovery of the dead servant’s body, no one much talks about it, at least outwardly they don’t. Whispers, however, are heard in the concubines’ private chambers, and in the servants’ quarters, and sometimes even outside of the estate although there are no details to be had. 

Instead a far more interesting whisper has overtaken over the manor. 

“Concubine Lu Han has been reprimanded by the Crown Prince.”

“What?”

Kyungsoo turns sharply to face Zitao. The servant’s girl’s face is taut and grim, but brimming with eagerness, pleased to be able to share the news which will surely please her mistress. 

“Three nights ago, in the prince’s private room.”

“For what reason?”

“No one knows exactly, mistress, although it cannot be a coincidence that it happened on the very day the body was found.”

“That is reasonable but it doesn’t make it true,” says Kyungsoo sharply. Zitao bows low as the concubine continues. “How did you hear about this?”

“Mistress, all the servants and the eunuchs are talking about it. Everyone will know soon; I ran here as fast I could to tell you.”

Kyungsoo sends a message to Baekhyun, the two deliberating throughout the afternoon about how next to proceed. They conclude it cannot meaning anything other than fortune for their schemes.  If that concubine was somehow implicated in their mess, then it would distract from Baekhyun’s obvious blunder.

“Why though?” asks Baekhyun aloud. “Han was never publicly reprimanded; his status remains intact as far as we know.”

“The prince though has been with Yixing for the last two nights.”

Baekhyun snorts. “Well that is nothing new. Not even Consort Kim can compete with the ‘beauty’ that is Yixing in the bedchamber.”

Kyungsoo scowls at him. “This is serious!”

“I know! I know it’s serious. We need to find out what’s going on. Perhaps I can get another spy into his rooms, or enlist my family’s support, or—”

“We’ll send Sehun,” Kyungsoo cuts him off.

“What? Send… what?”

Kyungsoo grits her teeth and repeats harshly, “We’ll send Sehun… She doesn’t have the same enmity with Concubine Lu as we do. Also, she owes us a favor.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


Several hours later Sehun is received into Concubine Lu’s rooms with all grace and sincerity. Sehun bites her lips and bows low, balancing there with Sunggyu behind her left shoulder and surrounded by the other concubines servants who smile at her with pretty faces. This does not look like a household which has been censured in any way, shape, or form. Sehun has learned of course that appearances are almost _ always  _ deceiving. 

“Please, rise,” says Han. He doesn’t get up, and instead indicates Sehun to come by him. There is a little enclave seating with a table in the middle. Sehun sits opposite her superior concubine and thanks him thoroughly.

“Tea, Jongin?” 

“Yes, Master.”

Half of Han’s servants dash away following a nod from the highest servant. Sehun swallows uncertainly; her retainers almost never behave with such alacrity. Even now Sunggyu is standing in the corner looking bored and out of sorts. Sehun hopes her expression does not give this away, for the concubine is staring at her so thoroughly it’s as if Han is seeing right into her soul.

“You are well, Sehun, I trust?”

“Yes, Concubine Lu—”

“Call me Han, please, it’s less formal and as it is just the two of us here…”

Sehun blushes. “Thank you,  _ Han. _ ”

The other concubine is still smiling. Sehun belatedly notices that behind him is a stack knee deep of brand new silks and fabrics, folded and untouched, of the most brilliant colors and patterns; pinks and green and a blue so bright it might have glowed. Her gaze passes over the cloth with longing, expert eyes recognizing their quality where none of the material she’s owned herself has been quite this lovely. 

Han follows her gaze but doesn’t comment on it yet, and Sehun forces herself to look away. 

They chat about mundane things for a while, the weather, the weather last week, the food Han sets before them to munch on, the tea which again isn’t as good as what Sehun drinks in her house; how enjoyable it is to watch the children on the estate playing with their toys and their nannies and toddling about. This last discussion brings up a churning sensation in Sehun’s stomach as she recalls the events of three days ago. Han abruptly stops and reaches over to hold her hand. 

“Forgive me, sister, I did not mean to bring that up. You are unwell.”

“I am fine, please… do not trouble yourself,” says Sehun. She doesn’t dare draw her arm away though. Out of the corner of her eye she sees Han dismissing everyone from the room except for Jongin. Sunggyu is already nowhere to be seen. A moment of panic flits through Sehun’s head as she realizes how quite alone she is. Her cheeks flush, and her heart races. Han must be able to feel her pulse. And one quick glance at the concubine’s face shows that indeed, he knows it. 

Sehun gasps, her breath drawing short. Already recognizing the signs of impending hyperventilation, the situation is doing nothing to prevent the emotions of pure, unbridled fear. Not here, not in front of Concubine Lu Han, surely she won’t have a complete panic attack in front of this person who could doom her forever…

“Sehun? Sehun!? Jongin, bring me that box over there, and hurry!”

Sehun tries to stand. She has to leave, she has to get away. Perhaps she has been poisoned. Yes, that must be it. Kyungsoo and Baekhyun sent her over here not to spy but to die. Maybe this will be it. She can leave now, fade away and leave this terrible place. Fight or flight though… Wouldn’t it be more dignified to die alone? Fear of spectacle wins the moment. She makes to move, one leg and then the other… But her legs are weak and they give way immediately. She collapses with a startling cry, only to find someone is supporting her weight. Han. Concubine Lu Han is holding her up. The other concubine’s words grow fuzzy in her ears. A few visions dance in front of her eyes, Sunggyu looking curiously concerned, Jongin forcing something down her throat with determination; Han’s face looking alarmed and almost, motherly. 

“Get the physician, now! And call the prince here immediately, Jongin, go now!” 

Sehun closes her eyes and bids the world goodbye.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Sometime later, however, there are voices. Sehun cannot make them out at first; three male voices, one deeper than she recognizes, then another. 

“You did well, Han.”

It is the Crown Prince’s voice.

Sehun squirms in her half sleep. So she is not in fact dead. It’s startling to recognize how relieved she actually is to be alive. 

“My prince, if I had known this would happen I should not have recalled those traumatic events.”

“You cannot have known. What matters is how fast you acted with the calming medicine, thank you, Han, for saving my concubine’s life.”

Han… saved her? 

Someone lifts her wrist, feeling her pulse through a thin cloth pressed against the sensitive bit of skin. Sehun squirms a little more.

“Your Highness,” says the deeper voice which Sehun finally remembers belongs to the royal physician. “Your Highness, I believe she is waking.” 

With no other choice, Sehun slowly opens her eyes. Her lids feel heavy, her throat is parched. For a moment she does not recognize where she is. Then, oh—she is laying on Han’s own bed. The physician moves away with a pleased nod. Then the Crown Prince sinks onto the mattress beside her and takes her hand.

“Sehun, you are alright,” he says with utter relief and joy.

Is this a dream? Sehun can count the number of times the prince has touched her with on barely one hand. And yet here he hovers, holding her so delicately Sehun could melt. Off to his side Han stands as well, relief displayed all over his face and not even a hint of jealousy. A thought occurs to Sehun that if their positions were reversed, neither Baekhyun nor Kyungsoo would be looking so  _ happy _ .

She looks back at Minseok. “Prince?” Though her tongue is heavy, her words come out clear. “Why are you here?”

He smiles at her fondly. “You fainted, Sehun. Concubine Lu said you grew upset at something and became worried so much that you fainted. The physician says this is not the first time this has happened. Sehun, why am I the only one who did not know?” His grip on her hand tightens as his face falls, and he says miserably. “I had no idea you were ill. I have failed you in this.”

She tries to sit up. “My prince, no… this isn’t your fault… I mean, I didn’t want to worry you.”  _ I didn’t think you’d care. _

“You mustn’t hide things like this. If there is something that worries you, you must remember to come to me. It is my duty that you are taken care of and do not become ill.”

Sehun shrinks a little back into the bed. So it is the prince’s  _ duty _ . It has nothing to do with love. 

The physician butts back in. “Your Highness, I should advise the concubine to rest more before she is moved.” He trades a glance with Lu Han who is quick to nod.

“She will of course stay here until she is well. Doctor, my prince, please do not be worried. I will see that she is taken care of here.”

As if this were all the prince wanted to hear, he smiles and stands to leave. With only one last smile to Sehun, he turns to the other concubine and grips Han’s hands with real tenderness. “Thank you, Han. I shall visit you again soon after I have seen the consort. I expect he will also come to check on Sehun. I hope you can forgive us for making your room into such a chaotic state.”

“It is no real bother, prince.”  

“Still, I shall have my personal cook bring the two of you tasty things. Sehun should eat well the rest of this day, and you too if you are to nurse her.”

“Rest assured, my prince, I will do so and we shall cause you no more trouble.”

He cups the concubine’s cheek once, then withdraws from the room, his eunuch’s high voice announcing the exit with brief pomp. Then Sehun and Han are alone in the room.

Sehun expects this is time to be scolded. For causing such an unnecessary spectacle, where Han’s smile is finally lost because the prince is no longer looking, and Sehun will be whipped back into shape for creating so much drama. Kyungsoo and Baekhyun will never forgive her, though of course they would be interested to know how much the prince worried  _ not over Sehun _ but over Concubine Lu and how he was so terribly inconvenienced. For it’s plain to see that now that whatever reprimand Han supposedly received from the prince, there’s not a single consequence evident between them now. 

The concubine steps towards her; Sehun closes her eyes, readying her nerves.

“Sehun.”

The scolding, however, doesn't come. 

“Sehun, you don’t have to be frightened of me. In fact I wonder that you even are.” 

“I am… not…”

“I think you came over here today because you were asked to. I will not say anything about that, except that in the future you do not have to wait until you are bidden to come by someone else. You are invited by me whenever you like.” 

“I…”

“We can talk about it later. For now you should rest. Consort Kim will be over within the hour probably to see that you are well. As for the prince, he does care for you. I know you think differently about that, but he cares for all of his concubines equally.”

Sehun scoffs. It’s the first time she’s ever let such an emotion actually go. “You mean he cares for our health.”

“Yes, and happiness,” Han prompts her a little more. By the tone of his voice though he doesn’t sound extremely convincing. 

Sehun frowns. “You are right. The Crown Prince does care for our health and overall satisfaction.” Then, more soft. “But you cannot say he loves me like he does the others.”

There’s a long silence where Sehun avoids looking at the other concubine directly. Han likewise pauses and stares at a spot just past the pillow behind Sehun’s head. It’s an unusual hesitation from a concubine normally so composed. 

“The Crown Prince has many matters to attend to outside the harem, and he will see many more duties arising once he becomes Emperor. It is unfortunate that he has less time to devote to things like… love.”

Sehun sighs. Before she was wed to the prince she became used to the formal speech of the noble class, the casual banter about serious events, the subtleties, the dodges. Among family, however, it was still possible to look a person in the eye and be direct about things. Here, not so. There’s a burning in her chest and she knows it’s dangerous to open her mouth but Sehun is tired and exhausted and ill and upset, and perhaps it will cause her death one day, but she looks Han directly in the eye and says, “He will never love me, not like he does you, or Concubine Zhang, or the consort.”

Han blinks, again unusually caught off guard. “Sehun, the Crown Prince…” He cannot finish that sentence. It irritates Sehun that he can’t say it, that no one can say what they absolutely mean in this wretched, horrible, beautiful place. So Sehun continues. 

“He looks at me and sees a woman he does not desire, too young to be of use and too useless to be loved. And all know his preferences, so why would he want someone like me anyways? A woman?” 

Han’s lips part in shock and anxiety. Swiftly, he scans the room to make sure they’re alone. “Sehun, you shouldn’t—”

“I’m a woman, and useless,” Sehun insists, “not even as beautiful as Kyungsoo. Maybe he cares about my health because it will be a discredit to him if one of his concubines dies but you cannot look me in the face and say he’ll ever love me, he’ll probably never even  _ like  _ me.”

“Sehun!”

“He’ll…” but Sehun cannot say anything more. Tears come to her eyes, and the stress of the entire afternoon fully overwhelms her. She covers her eyes and turns her head, unable to finish a monologue which should surely bring out some kind of punishment. Maybe Han will be nice when he tells this to the consort or the prince, and Sehun will only be thrown out of the manor. Maybe…

“Sehun!” The concubine blusters, pulling Sehun’s hands away from her face and bending low. “You mustn’t talk like this! You—”

“But.”

Han sits on the bed, still holding Sehun’s arms, and once again he looks around verifying they are completely alone. Then he demands Sehun’s gaze and Sehun finds she cannot look away. She sniffles once, then grows quiet. 

Han’s voice is low. “Listen to me now before you do something completely foolish. If you speak like this to anyone, you will come to grief. If you speak like this in the Palace, it will be treason. If you speak like this to another concubine, you will die, and it will be on my conscious for the rest of my own sad, miserable life. Now commit this to memory and never repeat it again. The love and favor of a prince, or of an emperor, will come and go. Learn patience, be shrewd. Do not be jealous of anyone. They are… likely just as unhappy as you.” Han’s lips tremble momentarily before he gets them under control. 

Sehun cannot help pushing him. “But he… at least he loves you—”

“The prince does not love anyone.”

Sehun blinks. “But.”

More softly Han says it again. “An emperor cannot love anyone.”

“But…” Han’s eyes flare a warning sign, but Sehun says it anyways. “Then… does that mean he cannot also be loved?”

Gently Han releases Sehun’s hands, putting his own back in his lap, and Sehun thinks the concubine is done speaking to her, that she has finally pushed a button which cannot be undone. 

Except, he isn’t done. Han averts his eyes and lets the silence almost drown them. Then he says quietly, “Now that, I never said. Get some sleep, Sehun.”

  
  
  
  
  


For the rest of the afternoon Sehun dozes off and on. She remembers Consort Kim arriving, anxious face and wringing hands and overly sweet simpers asking about Sehun’s welfare. Han answers most of his questions and the consort leaves. 

Later, Kyungsoo and Baekhyun barge their way in and make even more dramatic inquiries. They are distraught, and loud, and fake. Sehun smiles and tells them how faint she is even though she’s feeling much better, and Han deftly ushers them away so his charge can properly recover.

Later, the two of them chat once more. 

“What were your hobbies, Sehun, before you came into the prince’s manor?”

“Dancing,” Sehun answers, smiling wistfully. “I liked to dance. And I used to like playing the flute.”

Still later, when Han hand feeds Sehun from a bowl of bitter broth, he asks Sehun which of the silk patterns she liked the best. 

“You must take one or two. The prince is generous with his gifts, but I have little skill with a needle and will only make several outfits for myself.”

“You are most gracious, Concubine—”

“You liked the blue one, did you not? Take it, and make something pretty for yourself. There will be a birthday celebration for the Crown Prince next month. Perhaps you can dance then for him.” 

Sehun goes home the next morning with three shades of silk—blue, maroon, and soft mint green—a box of fine tea, and two of Han’s own servants bearing tasty treats and medicine to her own room. When Kyungsoo comes by to inquire, Sehun is able to tell her that Concubine Lu Han did not appear to be out of favor with the prince at all, that on the contrary he had been gifted with multiple treasures since the apparent reprimand, and more than one soft, kind inquiry from the prince himself who seemed yet to dote on him even more than before. 

  
  
  
  


In Kyungsoo’s private room, Baekhyun by her side, the two collude and determine, “Sehun has the concubine’s favor now. Inadvertently she has done well for herself, even better than we might have planned.”

Baekhyun drums his nail guards on a gilded table setting and smiles wryly. “Too well, if I may say so.”

“She did as we asked.”

“And she will continue to do so, as long as she remains malleable to our attentions.”

“You fear Concubine Lu Han will win her over one day.”

“I think that is exactly what’ll happen. I think it’s time we returned to our original plan. Lu Han has developed a steady platform for himself for the moment. On the other hand…”

  
  
  
  


 

  
  
  
  
  
  


Yixing wakens late one week following the discovery of the dead man. Truthfully, he’s been waking up early or in the middle of the night, nightmares plaguing his dreaming hours and fears disturbing him during daylight. By the time he gets out of bed he’s been dozing fretfully for hours. 

Soojung hands him a robe. The space next to Yixing is cold but rumpled. Soojung mistakes the reason for his glance and says, “Master, the prince left hours ago. He was afraid of waking you to say goodbye—”

“I remember him leaving.” 

For once his body is not actually sore as Minseok came to him very late, having been tied up all evening and most of the night with business, politics, and whatever other woes he had been burdened with of late. Yixing had not had time to prepare himself, the prince was too tired to wait. Yixing’s thighs saw most of the action and his back took all the prince’s seed. Yixing didn’t even have time to come; he isn’t too disappointed. 

“A bath, Soojung.” While he had mostly cleaned himself after the prince passed out, his skin is still sticky to touch. 

“The duke will be leaving today. I am obliged to see him off.” 

For a week the prince has been visiting Yixing every night; and for a whole week the duke has pressed his prim lips together in the daytime with growing displeasure. Their daily walks outside the garden walls have been in the company of the prince as well. Essentially it is because the two have much to discuss and many times Yixing tunes out their banter, their talk of the court and its officials. While they conduct their social business Yixing is a necessary distraction to serve them tea and smile and occasionally sing while the prince gazes at him affectionately, and the duke holds a stern, frozen smile. 

But for a week, Yixing has not been as cheerful as the act he puts on, nor is he happy with either of the two men. For Zhixiang is clearly jealous, and tells Yixing this often when they are alone. And the prince seems to suspect it all while not saying a single, damned thing. 

It would annoy Yixing if he were not already aware of Zhixiang’s affections. The two grew up together. They played as boys and became great friends. They studied together, practiced sword skills together, and as young teens they flirted afar with the girls, knowing even as they did so that they neither preferred thee girls than as they did to each other. It became something they didn’t talk about, not even hinted at. That Zhixiang liked him, and that Yixing liked him back. Their curse of course was that Yixing was long destined to marry the prince. What was affection between the two boys when they knew already it was doomed. And so Yixing grew up and learned how to hide his feelings to the point where he almost believed himself. Whereas Zhixiang grew up practically  _ un _ learning how to mask his adoration. 

Several hours later, dressed and beautiful Yixing greets the duke in the courtyard and scowls at him for coming early. 

“You’re playing with my life here, Zhixiang,” he scolds softy, faux-pleasantly where nobody can overhear.

Duke Luo bows low with that cunning smile which says he knows and he can’t help it. He says loudly, “Concubine Zhang is too gracious to receive me, and yet today I must leave! Oh, what a hopeless tragedy that this will be my last day under the Crown Prince’s hospitality, and yours of course.”

Yixing grits his teeth. They begin to walk, and Zhixiang says more softly, “Indulge me today, please. This may yet be the last time we meet.”

Yixing doubts that, though one never knows. “You will surely be invited back? The Crown Prince is most fond of you, even though you are most irritable on occasion.”

Zhixiang smiles. “Indeed the Crown Prince might, but one also hears that our most magnificent Emperor is facing the end of his days. Things will change sooner than one might imagine.”

Yixing glances right and left, grateful that his servants are walking well behind them en route to meeting the prince. To speak of the Emperor in such a way is not wise, though it’s no secret the old man lies on his deathbed. 

“You don’t expect to be invited to the Palace once the prince sits on the throne?” 

“To see the prince, most definitely,” says Zhixiang cheerfully, until his smile ends abruptly. “But you and I both know, I will never be alone with you after you enter the Imperial Harem.” 

Yixing’s eyes shoot sideways both in warning, and also in regret. “Then perhaps that is for the best.” 

He is still thinking of the last completely private conversation with the duke, when Zhixiang boldly held his hand and implored him one last time to leave with him, to run away. But Yixing has told both the duke and himself that he could never do it. Aside from the fact Yixing would be unable to take his daughter, it would mean the end of Zhixiang’s career, if not his life were they to be caught. Both their lives, if they are caught. 

The prince meets them as usual, Minseok quick to take Yixing’s arm and place him on the opposite side from Zhixiang. The scariest thing is that Yixing doesn’t know if Minseok is only aware the duke admires his concubine, or if he worries it may be reciprocated. It’s why he told Zhixiang to leave days ago. Regardless the prince never hints about it aloud, and Yixing would of course never bring it up. He’s the most favored concubine on the estate, and that’s no rights for bragging, it’s a method of survival. 

“Zhixiang, I’m so terribly sad you have to go back home today,” says the prince amiably as they meander down the path together.

“Your Highness, that is why today we should talk only of good things, and celebrate this beautiful friendship!”

“Exactly, my friend, exactly.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


It is after they turn a corner and cross a bridge when Yixing feels the situation turning bad. Music accosts them from a distance, two voices, one high and one low, male and female, accompanied by a soft melodic flute. Yixing almost freezes before remembering his position, attached to the side of the Crown Prince who, when he hears the voices, exclaims a soft “ahh!” and maneuvers towards the pavilion. Yixing already knows whom they will find there. Baekhyun and Kyungsoo, with Sehun as their accompanist, stand in the shade of the pavilion with a string of attendants surrounding them and, surprisingly, two other concubines as well.

Han and Yifan turn upon hearing the newcomers arrive, greet the prince, the duke, and Yixing, and with no recognizable change of expression Han returns Yixing’s politely curious gaze with a look of apathy. 

“What a delight,” says the duke, pleasantly observing the three performers. Only Yixing recognizes his sarcasm. 

“It is lovely,” the prince agrees. “I have not heard the two of them sing together for quite some time. And Sehun too.” He acknowledges Han’s presence and addresses the next question to him. Yixing is surprisingly grateful for the shift in attendance. 

“I did not know Sehun played,” the prince is saying. “Has she always?”

Han nods. “She has. It is fortunate you came across them today. I myself heard the commotion earlier and made my way here.”

“And you as well, Yifan?” asks Minseok.

He smiles. “It was a coincidence, my prince.” 

From the pavilion Baekhyun and Kyungsoo are looking more and more dramatically bashful. Kyungsoo flutters her eyes and smiles more. Baekhyun’s whole person seems to glow that much brighter, picking up the vibrant pink embroidery on his soft, cream colored gown. Kyungsoo wears a softer shade of jade green. Beside each other they look absolutely stunning. Only Sehun is somewhat out of color wearing maroon silk of a quality infinitely more rich than the others’. Perhaps because of that, or perhaps because of her musical prowess with the bamboo flute, the prince notices her more than the others. It doesn’t go unnoticed by Yixing that Han looks mildly pleased with this development. 

The concubines finish their song to many polite exclamations. 

“My prince, we did not know you were be out today!” cries Baekhyun rushing over. 

Kyungsoo sidles up shyly beside the other concubine and extends her surprise as well. “And we were only practicing a song for your birthday celebration next month. My prince, you will surely forgive us if we do not sound as good as we might be.” 

Minseok denies the assumption that their duet was nothing less than amazing. His eyes yet linger on Sehun. 

Yixing doesn’t believe for a moment this wasn’t intentional, though not perhaps to earn Sehun the prince’s attention. Kyungsoo and Baekhyun promptly ignore the other concubine, leaving the girl to wander in Han’s direction. But the two singers continue chattering to the prince and accepting his compliments while the three others and their servants appear mildly bored. Yifan is already backing out of the party, turned slightly away and trailing his fingers along a row of soft blue irises, the ever faithful Taekwoon at his side. Yixing hadn’t noticed at first, but the manservant is holding onto a little fluffy dog which Yixing has seen before in Yifan’s company. So Yifan has his puppy; Han and Sehun are conversing politely together. Suddenly Yixing feels left out. 

He notes the duke reappearing at his side. 

“Concubine Zhang, are you unwell?” 

“What?” Yixing’s head shoots up to find not only the duke but half the concubines looking his way. “Oh, no. Forgive me, it must be the heat.”

In a heartbeat the prince is by his side remarking, “Perhaps you should retire, Yixing. It is rather warm today. I myself would like a lie down; if only I did not have an important errand to do. Duke Luo, how do you feel about me escorting you off the manor myself and us going into town? We can have a drink before we part.”

For the first time Yixing’s heart beats in anguish over the thought of the duke leaving for good. He meets his eyes, which have settled warmly on his. Too warmly for this company, and though the prince is not paying close attention, the others may very well be doing just that. Yixing shakes his head softly, no, and the duke looks away, responding to the prince. “A fine idea.” 

It’s too late though. 

Baekhyun comes round from the pavilion with a smile that could make anyone tremble. “Is the duke really to leave? We have so enjoyed his visit, Concubine Zhang especially, I know.”

At his cue, Kyungsoo also opens her mouth, and her eyes promise nothing good. Yixing’s breath goes slack, the duke looks confused. Minseok is turning to face the concubine with a confused expression just as Kyungsoo begins to speak. “Indeed, and here we thought Duke Luo would prefer escorting the concu-  ahhhh!!!” 

In a flash Kyungsoo topples over backwards, palms hitting the ground with another loud cry. Baekhyun screams in surprise, hands crossing his face as he teeters uncertainly over the fallen woman. 

“Mistress!” Zitao cries, racing towards the concubine and kneeling down. “Mistress, are you hurt?”

“What just happened?” several others echo. 

Minseok calmly makes his way through the crowd, frowning slightly but he points to a white fluff ball now playing happily on the other side of the concubine, whose person the dog accidentally attacked on its way to tackle a small toy. 

“Isn’t that Yifan’s dog?” he asks. He rounds on the male concubine who is already rushing toward the scene. He throws himself to the ground.

“Your Highness, this is my fault! I did not notice the toy before. It is his favorite and I thought it lost earlier.” To the fallen Kyungsoo, he crawls over and again cries, “May Concubine Do forgive me!”

Minseok is frowning, but it’s clear that Kyungsoo is only scuffed and a little bit shocked. Between Zitao and Baekhyun they get her back to her feet. Part of her gown has been dirtied, and she’s not looking at anyone right now except Yifan, whose head is still prostrate on the ground. 

“An accident, I’m sure,” Minseok concludes emotionlessly. “One which will not happen again, I trust.”

“Your Highness, it won’t!” 

“Good. See to it that doesn’t. If you must confine your dog to your own set of rooms, then so be it.” 

“Your Highness is most gracious!” echo Yifan’s words once more. 

The scene clears after that; Kyungsoo returns to rest and change, Baekhyun hovering behind her like a ball of repressed fury. Yifan is dismissed to think about his actions for the rest of the day. Minseok takes his leave, dragging the duke beside him. Yixing didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye… 

Only Sehun and Han remain, the latter of whom comes over to Yixing.

“Concubine Zhang. You must have been shocked by the mishap.”

Yixing straightens and after a moment’s pause, shakes his head to deny it. “Well, perhaps a little,” he tacks on.

In the years they have been married to the prince, the two have always gotten on rather decently, though Yixing would not say they are  _ friends _ . Still, Han’s overture at this juncture is suspiciously  _ friendly _ . 

Han sighs and turns partially away. “I feel sorry for Concubine Wu. He must be experiencing such grief right now, to be sent back to his rooms, alone. After all it was just an accident.”

They both know that Yifan is never sad to be left alone. 

“Indeed,” says Yixing, a little puzzled. 

“Now that the duke is leaving, would you like to go for a walk with me tomorrow around this time? Perhaps we might visit the penitent concubine and cheer him up?” 

More slowly, Yixing agrees. “We… might, yes.”

“I believe he enjoys savory things. My cook is not so proficient in those. My taste is much more… sweet.”

Nodding, Yixing concurs. “I will have mine prepare something for him. I’m sure he will like that.”

“Excellent. Then I will see you tomorrow,” says Han. “And Concubine Wu.”

They part, and Yixing is not at all puzzled now over the things Han didn’t have to say.  _ After all, _ Yixing can practically hear the concubine’s unspoken words,  _ you owe him. _

  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  


It’s late in the evening when Minseok returns from the city, his nerves on edge from a secret meeting with a palace official Minseok is only seventy-five percent sure will be loyal once he takes the throne. His position as Crown Prince should be secure, but that doesn’t mean problems won’t arise, and aren’t already arising for once he sits there. He waves off the guards who accompanied him and slips back into the manor. Chanyeol is ready to meet him. 

“Your Highness, welcome back. There is a meal ready for you in your room.”

Minseok doesn’t reply, though he nods, grateful for the attention. His head hurts, it’s been a long day. The issues springing up from some of his brothers’ machinations are starting to become weary, and yet Minseok can never let his guard down. Add to the the departure of Duke Luo which left him in a thoroughly grumpy mood, and he’s ready for everything to be done. 

He eats in silence, only partially present in his mind. He’s rather in a far away place envisioning his enemies' potential roadblocks ten paces ahead.

“Your Highness,” says Chanyeol, when Minseok is about finished eating. “You are tired. Would you call someone tonight to give you rest? Perhaps the consort, or another concubine? Perhaps, Concubine Zhang?”

Minseok turns his head and glares at him, drawing minute pleasure from the eunuch’s reaction. Chanyeol usually reads him so well, but in this he’s made an unexpected error, and he knows it. 

“Your Highness, you are right. Perhaps another will do tonight,” says Chanyeol, backtracking steadily. “Does Your Highness have someone in mind.”

Minseok returns to the spread of delicacies on his table, looks them over and then drains his tea instead. He doesn’t actually. He’s been so annoyed at Yixing all week for not repelling the duke hard enough. It’s the reason he stayed with him so long, always with the concubine, always buffering the duke. His people assume Minseok doesn’t know everything, but this isn’t true. Minseok knows well enough what the duke thinks of the Crown Prince’s favorite concubine. He can tell from the man’s eyes. 

“Send…” Minseok stalls while he wonders which of his concubines he’d actually like the see. His consort would be the prudent choice. Junmyeon always knows exactly what to say and do to soothe his nerves, but it would be rude to force the prince’s only legal spouse out at this late a warning. He thinks instead about visiting Han, whom he hasn’t stopped admiring since their awful skirmish a week ago. If not for the duke’s lingering presence even, Minseok might have spent more time getting to learn about this man he’d previous ignored… 

Instead, however, he thinks back to a remark Han made mid-week when they met for tea, pleading for the prince to remember his youngest and most fragile of concubines. 

“Send Concubine Oh. Tell her, if she is so disposed and feeling well enough, that she should come to me tonight.” 

“Your Highness is most thoughtful. I will send someone at once.” 

Minseok was never terribly impressed by Sehun’s existence before. Too shy, too demure, and a woman, she’d kept her talents semi-hidden out of fear of the other concubines, and knew not how to please the prince. Minseok feels bad for her, has felt worse ever since her sudden illness not more than a few days ago. Yet when she comes to the prince, nervous and still demure but with a spark of happiness Minseok hasn’t seen from her before, he finds she can please him just right after all. Her body is slender, her hips not terribly defined, her breasts so small they disappear beneath his hand. Minseok forgets her basic anatomy and loses himself for a night, for several nights. He’ll want more children after all, when he becomes Emperor of all the known world. .

  
  


 

  
  
  


 

It’s late in the afternoon, almost two months since the prince received the Royal Edict. Junmyeon’s smile has practically frozen in place and is giving him one hell of a nerve twitch. Below him on the dais over two dozen dancers in long flowing silk bend and twirl as they rotate and weave across the floor space. Three singers brought in especially for the occasion stand off to the side waiting their turn as the musicians play. 

Junmyeon’s thankful that there isn’t anything right now for him to do. As the Crown Prince’s official consort, it’s his job to sit beside the prince and vaguely oversee the rest of the household, each of Minseok’s concubines as they sit off to the side at their small individual tables, eating delicacies and drinking wine and being merry, or as much as their station allows them to be. Most are frozen in place like Junmyeon is, their postures held perfectly still with faultless smiles. 

Junmyeon passes a glance at each of them in turn. Only Han meets his eyes and nods pleasantly back. The rest are watching the dancing, or conversing amongst each other. Yifan looks halfway asleep. Sehun’s table is set but absent; her attendant is nowhere to be seen. It shouldn’t bother Junmyeon too much, knowing that Sehun should be preparing her costume for a dance coming soon, except that she should have made an appearance here first at the prince’s birthday celebration before disappearing to change. At one twitch of his littlest finger, Junmyeon motions for Minho. The manservant instantly departs to find out what’s going on. 

“This is excellent, excellent,” says the Crown Prince towards the dancers. Junmyeon knows that expression well though. Minseok is slightly bored by it all and would probably like greatly to retire and spend the evening with just his closest family members. Except besides the concubines and the prince’s two children, several of his brothers, cousins, and various other members of the royal court and their spouses are in attendance as well. Prince Changmin, one year younger than Minseok, sits in the seat of honor. He is closest to Minseok, and also no threat in the line of succession. Next to him, however, sits Prince Kangin with his consort, Kyungsoo’s younger sister. All evening the two princes have said nothing but polite things, but the difference between the two is like day and night. Where Changmin’s courtesies are obviously genuine, Kangin’s are not. Each time the prince opens his mouth, Junmyeon notes the tension oozing from Minseok’s body. More than once he has had to place his hand gently on Minseok’s thigh beneath the table, urging the prince to stay calm. 

Junmyeon is filled with foreboding. Chances of anything happening today are minimal, but in the future, much more likely. He distracts himself meanwhile waiting for Minho to return. When he does, the servant bows low and whispers into his ear, “Master, Concubine Oh was sick earlier but is now ready to perform her dance as anticipated.” 

“Is she? Very well.” 

Minseok turns to Junmyeon with a silent inquiry, but Junmyeon just smiles. When the song comes to an end, the dancers part and the musicians hold their silence. Each of the concubines and the prince’s guests look up expectedly and Junmyeon says loudly, “My prince, I believe we will soon have a very special performance.”

Right on cue Sehun enters the room accompanied by a different set of back-up dancers. The concubine glows radiant in bright blue silk, long sleeves, and the finest set of ornaments and jewelry in her hair, ears and around her neck. For the first time all afternoon, Minseok sits up. 

Favor has done well for this youngest of Minseok’s household. Junmyeon cannot even be jealous of the girl, for Sehun is sweet and also simple and unfailingly deferent to the other concubines, especially of Junmyeon. He looks briefly at the still unfavored Kyungsoo and mostly unfavored Baekhyun. The smiles on each have dimmed just a little, the only trace of their immense, new dislike. On the other hand, Yixing is pleased, probably because prince’s attention to Sehun has drawn a little reprieve from Minseok’s once near-nightly visitations. Han is of course much delighted. Junmyeon knows well how that concubine was instrumental in helping raise Sehun’s position. Yifan of course looks bored and completely apathetic; he is never bothered by anything.

The music begins and Sehun takes the center floor. Like this, she is absolutely splendid, drawing everyone’s eyes, especially the prince. The picture of grace and poise, her movements languid but sensual, it’s a wonder it took so long for her to be noticed. Junmyeon has to admire the girl, but more than that she makes the prince happy and, if Junmyeon’s private suspicions prove true, she’ll make him more than happy very, very soon. 

By the time the concubine has finished her dance, half the room is caught in rapt attention, except for Kyungsoo and Baekhyun of course, who are back to tittering quietly together as if they could not be bothered by a mere dancer. At one point they grow too loud and Junmyeon takes it upon himself to chastise the two with a single warning look. They heed him, but a moment later they are back to their own devices, this time attempting to draw Han into conversation with them. This in turn, draws Yixing into the mix and while the two elder concubines politely turn away, it creates enough of a scuffle for Minseok to pay them attention. As Sehun bows prettily to delicate applause, Minseok looks at his household. They quickly shut up and pay attention.

And again there’s that tension in the prince which Junmyeon is unused to seeing. For years Junmyeon has watched the prince turn from a boy filled with life and joy to a man, more closed off and cold. With age came responsibility, and with responsibility, dread. With the coming power, even more dread. Minseok thinks he’s alone in this, thinks his brothers can never understand, thinks his consort and his concubines won’t help him, thinks too probably that anyone he trusts will betray him. But Junmyeon knows him better than that. He knows what the prince is capable of, of the love he might be capable of. It’s just Junmyeon’s problem that he is not that one. 

Somewhere in this room, there may be one. Or even yet in the days to come. And it’s Junmyeon’s duty to find them. 

Three things happen before the end of the celebration. The first involves Sehun fainting. Still flush from her dancing, her face goes stark pale before anyone even notices. Suddenly she collapses by her table, one hand over her stomach, the other her mouth. Tea cups and dishes scatter, half the room erupts with shocked gasps. The slowest attendant to Sehun’s side is her own eunuch Sunggyu. 

“What happened? Is she alright?” says Junmyeon, rising from his seat to reach the girl. Minseok is a half step faster.

“Call a physician,” says the prince steadily. The audience of servants and concubines scatters when he kneels by the fallen girl’s side. Gently, he reaches for her hand and whispers, “Sehun?” 

Her eyes flutter open, weakly. “My prince?” she asks, almost confused by her own fallen state. She lifts her head only for the weight to drag it back down. Almost immediately the prince scoops her up, body light to all appearances. 

“We’ll take you back to your room.”

At once some of the prince’s servants protest. “Your Highness, it is too far. Let us!” 

He laughs. “Is it? Then perhaps a closer abode.” Looking around he spots Han who immediately nods. “Concubine Lu’s room is closer, we will go there.”

Before he makes it a step farther, however, the second thing begins. A harried messenger, traveling post haste through the adjoining courtyard bearing the imperial seal. The entire room freezes, and Junmyeon’s blood runs colds. He can hazard a fairly positive guess that Sehun’s fainting spell is because she will soon bear the prince another child. But an imperial messenger with the face of stone accompanied by the sound of a bell ringing from afar does, without a doubt, signal one other, very important thing. The Emperor is dead. 

In all the commotion, Junmyeon doesn’t notice the third thing.  

May His Imperial Majesty, the new Emperor, the Son of Heaven, reign for Ten Thousand Years. 

  
  
  


  
  


 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *A note on the concubines’ titles. While Minseok was a prince, he had one official ‘consort’ and the rest were ‘concubines’. As emperor now, those titles have changed. Once again I’m loosely basing it off Qing harem titles, and modifying them gender neutral. 
> 
> The ranks now look like this:  
> Empress > Imperial Noble Consort > Noble Consort > Consort > Imperial Noble Concubine > Noble Concubine > Concubine.
> 
> *The capitalized word Palace indicates the entire palace structure of the imperial city. In lowercase, a palace can also mean the set of rooms/courtyards/complex of individual consorts and their attendants. Multiple consorts may share different wings of the same palace, lowercase.

 

When Minseok was eight years old, he was allowed to leave the Imperial Palace for the first time. His father, the emperor, left for the Spring Palace, a favorite destination where the gardens were even more exquisite and the weather a delight. Minseok’s mother was the favorite then. Barely a sixth tier concubine when she entered the harem, she had worked her way up through charm, talent, and beauty. At the time Minseok believed her to be the most wonderful person alive, second only to his father.

Leaving the palace grounds was both a letdown and simultaneously the greatest thing ever. For a boy steeped in the beauty of imperial grandeur, the streets outside the Palace were dirty and run down. There were people everywhere he looked, and not only the nicely dressed kind. His  mother scolded him for peeking out through the curtains of their litter. He’d actually begged to be allowed to ride a horse instead, like his older brother, eleven-year-old Minhwan. Years later, Minseok would realize from where came his mother’s favor. As the mother of not just one, but two royal princes, it was perhaps inevitable that she would rise so high. Also, that she would fall.

Looking on these streets again, Minseok preparing to enter the Imperial Palace for the last time with the rank of exalted prince, he realizes desperately what he’s going to miss. In his late twenties now, the streets of the imperial city hold the same fascination as they did when he was eight. Full of sounds he never hears anywhere else, smells he never smells anywhere else, sights, experiences, pleasures and more. The tea house where he would while the day with his favorite brothers and cousins, the music shops, the dancing houses, the high class brothels which catered to all of the previous delights in one concise location, where Minseok learned to refine his tastes in all the important matters, or at least in the things not related to ruling.

He wasn’t raised to be emperor. By the time he was born, that privilege was already awarded to the first born prince, where it remained until that young man’s unfortunate death, just five years ago. Minseok hadn’t known him well. But Minhwan had been a great friend of the Crown Prince, closer to him than he had been to Minseok, his blood brother. Unfortunately that all ended with Minhwan also died, thrown from his horse during a hunting accident with the royal family. He was then just fifteen years old.

A lot had changed between Minseok’s first outing, and the year his brother died. Four years saw the complete turnover of royal favor. His mother’s name became almost taboo. And Minseok went from being his mother’s darling child to merely _the one that survived_. All the weight of his brother’s ambitions fell upon his head. By the time he was sixteen, he was already being groomed for aspirations way beyond his head and his heart: marriage.

Jungsook was the bride selected for him. Rich, young, and beautiful, the daughter of a powerful family. No one said it aloud in Minseok’s presence, but in his mother’s eyes Jungsook, or her family, was the ticket back into royal power. She became the pawn of her line, and Minseok the pawn of his mother’s greatest dreams.

No one ever asked if he wanted to marry her; nor did Minseok object to it. He followed his mother’s orders and knew vaguely in the back of his head what she aspired him to be. But in spite of that Minseok did nothing to provoke his father, the emperor, and he stood out to no one intentionally, and he made zero political connections. Even still, his mother never rested.  Shrewd as ever, she clung to every last shred of hope so that her goals would be achieved.

Minseok both admires her and resents her.

“Your Majesty?”

Minseok turns to the voice, to Chanyeol, now bedecked in even finer robes as he prepares to take on the role of Head Eunuch of the Imperial Palace. He smiles.

“Chanyeol?”

“Majesty, are you ready?”

Still smiling, Minseok nods. He’s not ready. Not ready to enter the Palace, not ready to sit upon the throne, not ready to rule such a vast and powerful nation. He’s not ready for the governors and the courtiers and the politicians to be at his back, clawing for every favor, every promise, any shred of power they can strip from Minseok during his rule. Not ready to deal with intricacies of palace etiquette, not ready to deal with the Imperial Harem. Nor is he ready to deal with his mother, now the Empress Dowager.

“I’m ready.”

With a procession behind his back, solemn and magnanimous, he offers the prayers to Heaven. He glides into the Throne Room, and sits upon the throne. Hours of courtiers and congratulations, and memorials to and about his most imperial name, his family posing below the steps, lined up in rank and power, perfect, gilded expressions as the picture of everything near perfect. Little Jongdae yawns and nearly sways right off his feet. It’s the only fracture in the entire, perfect ceremony. Minseok stifles the only genuine smile he’s had all day.

It took years for Jungsook to conceive that little boy. And Minseok is under no illusions as to why. Put plainly, he ignored her. He respected her, he admired her, and she was great company when he could deign to be around her, but he couldn’t love her. Even now, her name leaves in his mouth the taste of bitterness.

It’s his fault she died, broken and alone, in the torture of childbirth. The first person Minseok ever cried for after they were gone. He held his little baby in his arms, days late after his birth, days late after Jungsook’s death, and he blamed himself.

Never again does he want to feel that kind of tragedy, not if it’s in his power to alleviate another person’s stress, not if he can at least pretend to like someone he’s supposed to be caring for.

“Your Majesty.”

Once again, Chanyeol’s voice breaks through the memories. He gives the eunuch a nod, who begins to read aloud Minseok’s imperial Edict aloud with sonorous tones across the Hall and down the steps where all attending can hear it. Later it will be carried to the gates of the palace itself and be proclaimed aloud again for all of the emperor’s subjects to hear.

Hours later, it feels, he asks the eunuch quietly, “Are we done now?”

“Yes, Majesty. I shall help you retire now, if you so choose.”

“Yes,” he replies hastily, exhausted. The court has been dismissed, his harem has been dismissed. Only Chanyeol remains with a couple of his hand-picked servants, loyal eunuchs who will serve under him and do the emperor’s bidding, for life.

Everything about Minseok’s new quarters is more beautiful and more refined than his previous mansion. There Minseok had been fairly happy. Married, but not happily, he was still pleased to be away from the Palace, to be secluded but not trapped, close to the center of the world, but not in the thick of it.

He sighs, supposing he will grow used to his new surroundings soon enough. He has after all, no choice.

“Majesty, will you choose someone tonight?” asks Chanyeol.

Minseok, halfway undressed looks at the eunuch with tired eyes. Oh yes, he’s almost forgotten. One of the new eunuchs, Seungri, holds a tray with markers, each bearing a different concubine’s name. Minseok sighs again, reaches for one… then another… takes his hand back and waves it away.

“No one, Majesty?” Chanyeol pleads. There’s an urgency in his voice, a reminder of protocol, and it nags at Minseok’s chest like an ache he cannot shake away.

“Junmyeon, then,” he finally decides. It is fitting he be with the Empress tonight.

After Jungsook died, her family provided a substitute. That person happened to be Junmyeon, a younger brother, someone who, if anyone had asked, Minseok would have enjoyed being married to first. Within a month they were wed and Jongdae was officially recognized as Junmyeon’s son. The poor man become a husband and a father before his eighteenth birthday, and if it had been under any other circumstance, maybe Minseok would have loved him more. But their first years together were rocky, full of unspoken anguish and a guilt Minseok could not easily shed. Ironically, their relationship got better after Minseok married again, and again, and again.

“Your Majesty?” It is Junmyeon’s voice now, calling Minseok’s title--and oh, how he wishes they could but call him by name.

“Junmyeon. How is your first evening as Empress?”

Minseok opens his arms, receives Junmyeon’s hands in his and squeezes.

Junmyeon smiles, but he doesn’t step any closer towards Minseok’s embrace. “I’ll manage well.”

“I know you will. It’s why I refused to let them take away your title. Only you could rule the Inner Palace, Junmyeon, and everyone knows it.”

Quietly, Minseok notices the eunuchs retiring out of sight, though not out of earshot. He lets go of Junmyeon’s hands, and touches his head either side of his ears. Most of Junmyeon’s black trellises fall in a loose braid behind his back. Some of it has escaped. Minseok loves this kind of dishevelment.

“You used to act coy around me, Junmyeon,” he says quietly, a little sadly. A smile escapes from his mouth and it matches the one forming on his Empress’s face.

“Would you like me to be that way now, Majesty?”

“No,” he responds quickly. Not when the game would be so obvious. “No, I think we can find something else to do, hm?”

Still with his hands beside Junmyeon’s ears, he leans in close, kisses him full on the lips. There’s a hunger in him tonight that Minseok hasn’t felt with Junmyeon in ages. And miraculously, his Empress seems to share it.

At their heated love making Minseok wonders, almost aloud, whether it’s been him holding back all these years. In more ways than any of his other concubines, Junmyeon was married to him out of duty, not pleasure. And Minseok has been treating him that way ever since, stiff rutting and short kisses. So he flatters himself right now, that the suddenly wanton man beneath him has only just bloomed, that it hasn’t been Minseok’s reserve posture which has set the tone for years, with Junmyeon merely mirroring his regards because _that’s_ what he thought he should be.

Hours later of course, those thoughts have disappeared. Junmyeon sleep shallowly beside him on his side and Minseok is thinking about anything else just to ignore the worst fact he can never change: he’s never going to love Junmyeon the way he deserves to be loved, and his Empress knows it. He leaves before dawn, unable to handle it any longer, unwilling to deal with Junmyeon again in the daylight. Chanyeol is waiting for him with tired eyes but a countenance too polished to show it, a junior eunuch at his side whom Minseok has never seen before. The boy is terribly young, or maybe it’s just his face, but it’s an earnest expression, maybe perhaps even genuine.

Minseok pauses magnanimously and looks between the two. “You are new,” he says.

The eunuch does not answer except to say, “Majesty,” with slightly trembling lips.

“Your Majesty,” Chanyeol intervenes, “this is my youngest cousin, Minhyung.”

“Ahhh,” says Minseok, like he remembers having this conversation before (he doesn’t). “The one you said you were going to were going to personally train.”

Chanyeol bows, and the boy remains mum. Since there’s nothing else required of Minseok he sweeps past them, desiring only the peace of his own chambers for the few remaining hours he has to himself. The days are long. The nights are even longer. And the years, the years he’s destined to spend in this prison, will be either endless, or short indeed.

  


 

 

 

Yixing’s lips are literally frozen stiff. Whether from the frigid temperature which has settled in around the palace walls, or the atmosphere of inviting half the concubines of the harem into his private palace, he doesn’t know, but it’s probably a combination of both.

It’s been six months since the exchange of imperial power. Yixing wishes he could say that Palace has settled down since then. But of course it’s only a thin veneer which keeps the peace, and sometimes not even that. With the Empress laid over with a light fever, an illness which seems to have taken down everyone at one time or another, it’s Yixing’s duty to hold the candle and _entertain_ the harem.

“A few more coals to the brazier, Soojung,” he tells his servant. Soojung merely nods her head towards a curtained antechamber and moments later two other servants alight carrying a basin of coals to renew the heater.

Baekhyun tuts approvingly, his motive obvious when instead of reaching forward to warm his hands, he encourages Sehun to sit closer instead.

“Sister, you must sit closer to the warmth. Noble Consort Zhang surely doesn’t mean for you to catch cold so easily.”

The male consort clutches daintily to Sehun’s arm, ushering her towards the grated brazier, and even if Sehun misses it, all other consorts catch the smirk Baekhyun directs to Yixing.

Yixing decides it’s not worth addressing, barely a blip on the social spectrum which is always set at _tense_. If anything, Sehun more than anyone should not catch a chill. The girl is of course heavy with child, and by all accounts suffering through a difficult pregnancy. She is daily attended by imperial physicians sent by the Emperor, coddled by the Empress, doted upon by Consort Lu Han, and sweetly bullied by half of the remaining harem, Baekhyun primarily as head.

Yixing himself has been keeping a fine distance away, polite only because he should be and concerned as only a more ranking consort needs to be. In the intervening months since the Emperor took his seat, Yixing and Junmyeon have come to an understanding that they be equally attentive to promoting _peace_ inside the harem. And Yixing must admit, he’s not nearly as good playing this game as the Empress.

He reins in a sigh, and keeps smiling.

“Consort Oh must have many more woes than we can understand. Sister, you must let us know whenever you are uncomfortable.”

“Yes,” agrees Baekhyun, “especially as none of us have ever been with child before.”

He sneers, but Yixing takes note not even Kyungsoo is impressed with this performance. As the only other ranked female consort of any notoriety, Kyungsoo is still suffering from the Emperor’s indifference. Perhaps the harem imagined it differently before they came into the palace, that perhaps the Emperor would finally take more notice of the women surrounding him in order to beget more children. Instead, His Imperial Majesty, the Son of Heaven, Lord of Ten Thousand Years has retained roughly the same preferences. Which is to say, he holds his harem in similar regards as when they were still living in the prince’s manor outside the Palace. His favorites remain in place, with young Sehun making up the newest focus of his adoration. Perhaps with two children already born, a son and a daughter, and another on the way, the Emperor feels no real pressure to have any more. Not yet at least.

Yixing zones out for so long, that when he comes back to the scene it’s to overhear Baekhyun recommending Kyungsoo to offer calming perfumes for the pregnant consort. Sehun quietly smiles, and bows her head in consent, pale countenance belying her condition. Yixing makes a mental note to secretly inquire more about these perfumes.

The rest of the gathering does not take long to play out. The older consorts make small talk and gossip about the newer additions to the harem, a grand total of twenty concubines added not by the Emperor but by his mother the Empress Dowager.

“Noble Consort Zhang, you must invite some of them to play with us soon,” Baekhyun pleads, and Yixing can only assume the consort means to take a number of them under his personal wing. Yixing sniffs at this, redirecting the focus.

“Consort Wu, you have met them, have you not?” he asks.

The normally stoic man blinks his eyes, then smiles politely. But he only responds with, “I have.”

Yixing almost wants to glare at him. He knows for a fact Yifan is a distant cousin of Imperial Concubine Dong Sicheng, one of the few male concubines who has been blessed by a visit from the Emperor. The only others to have spent the night in the imperial bedchamber are also imperial concubines, Moon Taeil and Kim Dongyoung, both men. Meanwhile the rest languish away.

Since Yifan isn’t forthcoming with the conversation, using only his eyes Yixing beckons Han to do something, anything to keep Baekhyun from monopolizing the room.

The other Noble Consort quickly provides a few anecdotes about the sweet young Noble Concubine Qian Kun and that young man’s penchant for gardening. Baekhyun yawns. Kyungsoo inquires about his garden, and they spend the remaining time discussing blooms and herbs and how to properly arrange a pot of cut flowers. By the time Yixing dismisses the harem, he’s wielding a massive headache.

“How does the Empress even do this, day after day?” he asks his servant.

Soojung graces him with the most sympathetic of smiles. “From what I understand, Empress Kim is a man with many headaches, master, just like you must feel today.”

Yixing actually laughs. “Quite so. By the way, what’s this I hear about His Majesty’s brothers?”

Instantly Soojung makes a face. “I haven’t heard much. Only that Duke Kangin has been creating drama in the court, causing a mess for His Majesty.”

Yixing nods. It’s nothing new, and nothing Yixing hasn’t heard mentioned from the Emperor himself when he’s sated in bed and about to fall asleep. What he truly wants to know is why he heard Kangin’s name whispered by a group of servants who didn’t realize he was listening. More specifically, why the name of Duke Luo Zhixiang was mentioned too in conjunction.

“Keep your ears open. I want to know what the rest of the servants seem to be more aware about than me.”

Soojung bows. “I shall do that, master. Is there anything else you require right now?”

Yixing frowns, worrying his lower lip between his teeth in an appalling lack of decorum. “Nothing for now. I will visit the princess for a while to clear my head.” Because after a morning of almost nauseating _talk_ and _manners_ and _form_ , it’s only a little time spent with his daughter which can cheer Yixing back up.

 

 

 

 

 

It’s late in the evening, well past the time when most of the Palace are in bed. Only Sunggyu is running about, trailing a lantern near the ground and grumbling when he trips over a small step. When he became eunuch and entered the prince’s manor it really wasn’t for _this_ , running late night errands for the pregnant consort of an actual Emperor! He only wanted to make a small living for himself and keep his family secure. The majority of his paycheck goes straight to his mother and father and his seven other brothers and sisters who live marketside trying to make a living within the capital walls.

Up until recently too, Sunggyu had a comfy life. The servant of an unfavored concubine went mainly ignored. No one to chastise him for slacking, no eyes watching his every word and action. He could slip out of the manor whenever he dared. Sehun’s pregnancy has changed that, and Sunggyu is not so grateful. Now, not only is his life harder both by day and especially at night—he sighs in relief, the servants’ kitchen finally in sight—but he’s living almost every moment watching his back. If something happens to the consort, it’s most likely Sunggyu’s life which would be taken in poor recompense.

At the base of the kitchen, he stumbles headlong into another servant. The lantern slips from his hand, candle extinguished as it rolls along the stone walkway.

“Sunggyu?” cries the dishevelled servant, mouth tight in a frown.

“Taekwoon.” Sunggyu stands quickly, bows haughtily. “Sorry.” Consort Wu’s servant stands before him with tray of mangled dishes, tea spilled over the edges from their encounter. “Why are you out here so late?”

Taekwoon sneers at him. “Same as you, most like.”

“What, your master is pregnant and having cravings?”

Taekwoon snorts, but he looks thoughtful. Neither one of them need to technically trek to the servants’ kitchen, having small kitchens within their mistress’s and master’s living palaces. Sunggyu is only here because he failed to stock up on the necessary delicacies to sate Sehun’s taste buds earlier in the day. And Taekwoon, well, who’s to say what he’s here for. Their presence alone though signifies a shared endeavour, not that Sunggyu really cares. Sunggyu serves a woman, and is thus a eunuch. Taekwoon serves a man, and for that privilege likely still retains his own original manly parts. For that reason alone Sunggyu doesn’t like him.

“Looks like I’ll be returning to the kitchens,” says Taekwoon, sadly observing his spilled tray.

“Are there more lights inside? I can’t see anything from here.” Sunggyu hasn’t bothered to lift his dropped lantern.

Taekwoon answers crisply. “I already blew them out, but you can light one when we go in. My hands are full. Yours are not.”

Bumping around the servants’ kitchen at night has always been a bit spooky. Also Sunggyu has only been here half a dozen times personally so the layout is unfamiliar to him. The two servants tiptoe inside, feeling for tables and shelves, baskets of herbs and pots of spices, and great earthenware cooking basins, the stoves.

“Matches are over there,” says Taekwoon, pointing into the darkness. He sets down his tray and begins fumbling through baskets of tea.

“Great,” says Sunggyu.

Not a moment later, he freezes. Three figures have just entered the complex from another route, voices low in the darkness, but there’s no wind out tonight, and their voices carry. The first phrase alone is enough to send Sunggyu into a fright.

“What about Consort Oh? She’s a doomed woman, if ever there was one,” followed by a laugh.

Taekwoon immediately dashes to Sunggyu’s side, pulling him down behind the shelves. Through the papered walls they can see the outlines of the servants’ standard headgear.

“I give her another two or three months. So there’s no point trying to get anything out of her now. Her family’s hopeless anyway. No power, practically no worth.”

Sunggyu stifles a small gasp, recognizing the second person as Heechul, Baekhyun’s servant. He meets Taekwoon’s troubled eyes as the three other servants turn a corner to enter into the proper kitchen area. Taekwoon points, and Sunggyu nods. Together then, on their knees, they crawl in the direction from which they came, heads low and utterly silent. Meanwhile the conversation continues as the third person finally speaks, a woman.

“Enough talk. My mistress is waiting, and Seungri, you still haven’t told us what you learned from the Empress’s palace?”

Seungri, a new addition to Junmyeon’s menagerie snorts. “What’s there to tell? The Emperor visits frequently, rarely stays the night. It’s assumed he leaves the Empress and goes right for Noble Consort Zhang’s bed. The Empress cries himself to sleep at night.”

“What, does he really?” scoffs Heechul.

“No.” Seungri snorts. “You think the Empress has that many emotions.  The man is stone cold. It’s no wonder His Majesty doesn’t like him.”

From the sound of a smack, and Seungri’s small cry, Sunggyu guesses he just got hit.

Zitao’s deep voice hisses in warning. “That ‘man’ is the Empress, the official spouse of His Majesty, and _your_ master. Have a little respect towards him.”

Seungri is unrepentant. “Like I care about to whom I’m assigned. It’s only because of Consort Byun that I was sent there at all. You can’t cry about showing respect when it’s your master and your mistress pulling all of the strings.”

There is silence for a few moments as somebody rustles through the spice drawers. Then, even more softly, Zitao’s voice cries, “Ah hah. Here we are. Let’s go. Seungri, you have you orders.”

“Yes,” says Heechul. “And quit complaining about it. You’re being well compensated. I think you’ll survive.”

The three of them exit as Seungri makes one last jibe. “Everybody talks about survival in this place like it’s just a joke.” And then they’re gone.

From their corner in the shadows, Taekwoon and Sunggyu don’t move a muscle, not until the last sounds have entirely dissipated. Taekwoon’s face is contemplative. Sunggyu just has the jitters. They look at each other in disbelief.

“Best inform your mistress of this.”

Sunggyu nods. But truthfully, he doesn’t know how to. What is he supposed to say to a pregnant woman already given over to distrust and fright? That someone, namely Consorts Byun and Do, in collusion with a servant placed deceptively in the Empress’s palace, have a conspiracy out against her? Sunggyu hardly has any concrete facts, and besides, aren’t there always conspiracies out there in play? He determines to think about it overnight and maybe find a way to broach the topic in the morning.

Sadly, he forgets.

  


 

 

 

 

In the end, it doesn’t take two months for the first great scandal of the imperial harem. It takes two weeks.

Han is barely finished dressing for the day, attended by two of his youngest servants since Jongin is nowhere to be found. He sent the boy out earlier to the Office of Distribution to inquire why his requests for a different variety of scents have not been met. He should have returned by now, as his new servants are still painfully slow at their job. Chenle and Renjun came recommended to Han when he moved into the Palace. So far the only merits Han can say about the boys is that they are intelligent, deferential, and dedicated to their tasks. So much so that they agonize over every single hair trinket on Han’s ornate headgear in the time Jongin could have done up six.

“Jongin isn’t back yet?” Han asks of the boys.

“No, Master. He said he would return straight here when he came.”

Han frowns, musing that it’s been over an hour. Han promised to walk with Noble Concubine Qian today, having been given an invitation to visit the gardens of the Empress Dowager. And an invitation from the Dowager is not one that can be refused.

Han is a little bit in awe of Minseok’s mother, but also deadly afraid. Already a legend in her own right when she was the favored consort of the late Emperor, thanks to her newly risen status in the Palace, she’s a force to be reckoned with. Han has seen even Yixing practically shaking on his toes before the Dowager. He’s seen Junmyeon flinch at her words, usually criticism. Strangely enough, the Empress Dowager has spared Han from her sharp rhetoric. He might even say she likes him, if extreme, haughty decorum, but no words of critique, can be defined as such.

Small footsteps beckon towards the curtained entryway, too dainty to be Jongin returning. Han looks, smiling when he sees who it is.

“Noble Concubine Qian, please, come in. As you can see I am still practically indecent.”

The concubine politely laughs. “Noble Consort is quite splendid today, what is this indecency you speak of?”

Han points towards the one end of his disheveled headgear. Chenle and Renjun immediately gulp and hurry their motions. They’re still artfully slow.

By all accounts, Qian Kun was handpicked by the Dowager Empress to enter the harem, due to a far off lineage with the dowager’s maiden family. He hasn’t yet entertained the Emperor, but Han has serious doubts that Kun cares. The boy is quite formal, inclined to gardening and sewing, and in all the times the Emperor has visited Han personally within these walls, he’s made himself scarce. A concubine with a disposition for getting noticed would surely not let go of an opportunity for a chance meeting. Han relishes his personality, hopes they will be friends. As yet, however, Han’s not been able to get the concubine to drop formalities when it’s just the two of them. How much easier it would be to call him Kun, and for the concubine to call him Han. Even ‘Lu Han’ would be easier on the ear than Han’s official title.

Truthfully, he wasn’t expecting the rank when they moved into the Palace. After the Empress, the next highest title that may be granted to a concubine is Imperial Noble Consort. But there aren’t any of those yet. Instead, Han and Yixing share a similar rank, Noble Consort, and thus stand on equal footing. Before several months ago Han could not have imagined it. And technically speaking, Yixing still ranks higher than him in terms of favor and also talents. The other man shares domestic duties with the Empress over harem matters, bookkeeping, and the like. As for Han, well he just shares the Emperor’s bed more often than not and has access to the Emperor’s inner study where all others must wait an invite. So far, at least that perk is nice. The younger concubines look up to him, but they aren’t intimidated by him, and that, Han concludes, is a particularly nice position to be in.

Han sighs. “We’ll be ready yet. I’ve heard the Dowager Empress’s gardens are practically exploding with-”

He stops, for a great commotion has suddenly sounded on the pavement beyond their courtyard.

“What, what is going on?”

Kun turns on his heels, face contorted with confusion as he has a better view than Han. He gasps. Han motions impatiently for his servants to finish, then regardless of appearance, he stands to join Kun’s side. They walk quickly down the steps and down the courtyard where the remainder of Han’s household staff congregates before the gate with wonderous, fearful cries.

“Step aside, now,” Han shouts.

The servants part with shouts of, “Master, no! What if they are coming here-”

By the time he and Kun reach the gate it’s to see a troop of palace guards in a running march, gliding down the wide expanse of walkway, clearly to a different location. Behind them run a different set of onlookers, some servants, some minor palace attendants, a few of the minor concubines.

Han recognizes a servant belonging to Consort Wu. He stops the boy. “It’s Hongbin, isn’t bit?”

The boy comes to a screeching halt before Han and immediately falls to his feet. “Noble Consort Lu! Something has happened!”

“What? What is it? Tell me quick.”

All his greatest fears are coming into play. Has something happened to the Empress? To Yixing? Sehun? Maybe even to the Emperor?! But no, none of their palaces lay in the direction the guards are heading. Which leaves only one of several options.

“It’s Consort Do! She… she has been accused of bewitching the Emperor, with forbidden scents and perfumes!”

“What?” cries Han. “That cannot be.”

For one, the Emperor refuses to be seduced and steadfastly ignores the consort. This is only fact. On the other hand, Kyungsoo is known for having a great hand at blending aromas for various purposes, and many a consort or concubine has gone to her for calming balms, scents to create an air of happiness, or alluded warmth. For Kyungsoo to be accused of something nefarious must only mean a combination of ingredients with seductive powers, which is absolutely forbidden. Used against the Emperor, and the sentence is death.

“Something bigger is happening here,” whispers Han. Only Kun hears him, but Han does not care to elaborate. Kyungsoo is too clever to be caught with something like that. Which means there’s likely a bitter plot, and Han is petrified with fear, mostly of the unknown. A moment later he spots Jongin darting counter to the advancing troops. Han opens his hands to the man with great relief. “Jongin, what’s going on?”

Jongin pants, sweat marring his brow like he’s run all the way here. He gasps, and draws great breath. “Concubine Do-”

“I’ve heard that part,” says Han quickly. “This sounds too odd, what else is going on? You must have heard something!”

Jongin nods several quick times, confirming Han’s fears and his heart races now in his chest.

“The c-consort…” Jongin stammers, “she’s mad. She’s utterly mad. I was passing by there from the Distribution Office when it happened. She said it’s a lie, she’s been set up.” Jongin pauses to draw another breath, and his eyes when he looks at Han are framed with tears. “She claims it’s a set up… by Consort Oh. Half the guards are running to restrain Consort Do, but the other half… they’ve already reached Consort Oh’s palace and are investigating there. Master, I don’t know what they’ll find, but it cannot be good. The other consort… she-she wouldn’t claim something like that if they hadn’t already set it up?”

Han drops his hands, steps further into the walkway and looks. Sure enough, heading in the opposite direction he spots the back end of a second troop of guards, surely headed towards Sehun’s palace.

“ _Oh, no._ ”

By the time they reach the scene, the palace is in chaos. There are guards everywhere, furniture upturned and thrown about, servants crying, servants being interrogated. Sunggyu kneels in the midst of it all with wide eyes open in horror, armed guards with their weapons drawn threatening him in place.

“Where is the consort?” Han asks the nearest person, a nameless servant from somewhere  he’s never seen before.

The woman stands speechless observing the scene, finally pointing an unsteady hand towards the main complex, Sehun’s quarters.

Jongin makes a grab at Han’s arm, but he shakes him off, immediately mustering up the courage to dash through the chaos. When a troop of guards attempt to stop him, he draws rank. “I am Noble Consort Lu Han, the most senior ranking member of the harem present, and you _will_ let me pass.”

He’s stopped again at the entrance of the Sehun’s rooms, and this time Han makes it no farther.

“Where is the consort?” he demands of the guard, covertly noting the emblem and rank of Lieutenant Lee Taeyong, second in command of the Imperial Guard, a generally tough man to crack and fiercely dedicated to his job.

The lieutenant bows. “Noble Consort. She is inside, but I must insist you remain here until our investigation is complete.”

Han fumes at him. “The consort bears His Majesty’s child, yet all her servants are in the courtyard and kept from her side. Is this how members of the royal family are to be treated?”

“But the investigation-”

“I assure you it will not be hindered by my presence. I _will_ see the consort.”

Still Taeyong remains firm, his mouth shut perhaps in the absence of argument. Han is saved when moments later the Empress himself sweeps into the courtyard with half his household. One look from Junmyeon, and the lieutenant immediately backs away from the door.

“Your Highness,” says Han, bowing low.

Junmyeon merely nods. “You have only just come? Follow me then.” Then, with a serious look, he adds, “His Imperial Majesty will be here shortly.”

They find Sehun inside, tears streaking down her face, almost sideways on her bed while another lieutenant hovers over her, his back turned and barking orders for his soldiers to turn out every little drawer, every sleeve of cloth, every basket, every basin. Sehun’s jewels lay scattered across the floor, her silk gowns tossed about like rags. Han hastens to her side, sitting on the bed and drawing her into his arms. The Empress does likewise, though he remains standing.

“Consort Oh,” he speaks softly, reassuringly, “I assume you know you are under investigation?”

Sehun sobs, one hand over her belly, the other across her eyes. “Y-Yes,” she hiccups. “They-they said something about Consort Do,  a-and, contraband herbs? Your Majesty, I would never!”

“Shh, now. We will get to the bottom of this.” The Empress pats her awkwardly on the back. Han holds up a handkerchief to her eyes.

But moments later, a guard from the back storage hall shouts in triumph. All motion in and outside the courtyard comes to a halt as the man makes his way back inside, a misshapen basket in his hands, and inside it… layers and layers of cloth containing the forbidden aphrodisiac.  

Sehun gasps, fear and disbelief hounding her young face. Then she shakes her face and practically begs the Empress. “Your Highness, I’ve never seen that before! It’s not mine! It’s not mine!”

Only the arrival of the Emperor could make the situation worse. Chanyeol enters first, proclaiming loudly, “His Majesty arrives!” mere seconds before the man himself walks in. Sehun cries even harder, tossing off Han’s arms and the Empress’s hand to throw herself on the ground.

“Your M-Majesty! I am innocent. I am innocent, please! You _must_ believe me!”

Minseok can only stand there, however, and an awful churning burns in Han’s gut as he watches the man he loves make no expression at all. Instead, he looks to the guards, hears their explanation about their discovery. Sehun weeps at his feet, and not even the Empress’s caution to take the investigation slow can stop him from addressing the room, briefly, and without emotion.

“Lieutenant Lee, Lieutenant Seo. You will confer over the status of this investigation with General Li and report to me by dusk. Until then both Consort Do and Consort Oh will remain under house arrest. All secondary servants of their households will be held for questioning or reassigned until further notice, your discretion.”

For a moment, his gaze crosses path with Han’s. He looks tired, Han thinks. Irritable and upset, but the crack in his veneer is just barely visible. Sehun, who doesn’t know his face nearly as well, and also isn’t looking, would never notice.

“Empress Kim, you will see to it that my orders are carried out. I was expected half an hour ago to appear at court. Goodbye for now.”

He leaves to the echo of Chanyeol’s voice announcing the Emperor’s departure, a lone sound signifying the beginning of the end. Meanwhile Sehun is hysterical, the Empress discomforted, and Han… Han is out for blood.

 

 

 

 

 

The turmoil of the morning’s events continues simmering in the remaining concubines’ minds. Most of the official gatherings are politely cancelled; others occur spontaneously, the men and women of the harem closing ranks and tightening defenses. Word has it the Empress hasn’t rested all day and that Noble Consort Lu refuses to leave the Emperor’s courtyard begging for audience.

Yixing wakes up the following morning having barely slept at all, his mind at more unease now than ever before. Or rather, almost ever. The shock of the dead servant outside his room in the prince’s manor comes harkening back to mind, but for now at least no one is dead. That could change in a heartbeat.

“Soojung, my breakfast?”

He surrounds himself in an extra cape, shivering from more than the cold. The Emperor hasn’t visited in more than a week, which is fine by him. More concerning is the lack of food. Soojung looks troubled and immediately scolds her underlings.

“Are you so lazy you have forgotten your master’s breakfast?!” she hisses.

Two of them immediately bow, knees to the floor. “My lady, forgive us. We did not receive our usual deliveries yesterday due to the…”

“Then you can run to the main kitchens and get them.”

“Yes, my lady. Seohyun has already left to fetch the parcel. Master, please forgive us, it will be ready soon.”

Soojung opens her mouth again, as if to voice her displeasure, but Yixing shakes his head. “I will wait. It’s alright.

“Master, thank you!” the girls bow low once again, before scrambling to their feet and disappearing.

Soojung frets over Yixing. “You should not forgive them so easily.”

But Yixing is tired, so very tired, and worn out from the hassle. “Yesterday was too chaotic. I’m sure they won’t let it happen again.”

Indeed, they return soon enough with several trays, small pots of soup, rice, and other delicacies. Soojung inspects the dishes as she lays them out before Yixing. Yixing’s stomach rumbles, an act of indecency he’s glad only happened in the privacy of his bedroom. Soojung pulls his long braided hair away from the dishes just as he picks up a spoon. He pauses for a moment, dips the utensil in the nearest dish and brings it to his mouth.

Soojung sniffs.

A second later, she bats the spoon away from his hand. Liquid flies across the table, spoiling the other dishes and Soojung nearly shrieks.

“Master, don’t!”

Yixing is on his feet in an instant, and the table crashes away from him. The tiny porcelain dishes scatter to the floor, shattering into pieces, the food goes everywhere, even the small candle with its snuffed flame. Yixing looks at Soojung, discerning her expression, as the rest of his household flies into the room.

“Master, what happened!” they cry in succession. He looks to Soojung for help. Her face is impassive once more as she hurries with an explanation.

“Bring trays and cloths. The table wobbled, as you can see. Hyomin, there is a box of snacks the Empress sent over to us several days ago. Noble Consort may have some of those until a new meal is prepared.”

Yixing stares over the spoiled dishes staining the rug under his feet. He sniffs but he cannot detect whatever Soojung did. He trusts her though, absolutely. And only one thing is certain. Someone has just tried to poison him, with or without help from his own household servants.

  


 

 

“Your Majesty, you _must_ reinvestigate! Promise me you will!” Han isn’t crying anymore, but he’s probably several seconds away from it.

The Emperor turns away his head, and Han sniffs. How easily this man goes from being a lover, a man whose name was once just ‘Minseok’, to the cold hard face of the Emperor right now.

“Han, I have already told you…”

It’s been three days since the uproar. Three days since the consorts were put under house arrest. Han hasn’t seen Sehun once since then, and since the Emperor is refusing to curb that sentence and let him in, Han does the only thing left to him. He pleads, shamelessly.

“Sehun would never do something like that, and you know it. You _know_ it!”

Minseok turns to him in a dash. “Oh, so it’s ‘Sehun’ now, with no proper title. My dearest noble consort, are you so concerned about your sister consort for _her_ sake, or because it could be conceivably said it’s _your_ fault she came under my attention?”

Han gasps. He’s also several seconds from foregoing all sense of self-preservation and slapping His Imperial Majesty, right across the face.

But Minseok, as if realizing his words, looks suddenly anguished. He stands up, sighing deeply and treks halfway across the room.

“I’m sorry, Han. I didn’t mean that. Truly, forgive me.”

Han almost dares the Emperor to look him straight in the eye and say it again.

For three days all those blessed ‘perks’ Han prided himself have gone to waste. He was denied entry to the Emperor’s private chambers for two of them, and never has Han been so infuriated. General Li, first officer of the Palace Guard, is Han’s new number one enemy. Or maybe second, compared to the person who set Sehun up.

Han kneeled for most of the days, bone weary and he drank not a drop a water, ate not a bite of food. Jongin stood over him with a parasol and pleaded with him to leave, but the general would not let him pass, and Han saw not even a hint of the Emperor. He heard only whispers that His Majesty was busy, that His Majesty was in court, that His Majesty was attending to another situation. That His Majesty refused to see him. Until today.

Minseok walks slowly back to his side, almost penitent. Han can still see in his eyes how tired the man is; he knows he must be just as stressed. He’s just better than Han at hiding it. He’s an Emperor after all.

Softly, he kneels before Han and says, “Are your knees healed yet? Did Jongin apply the poultice I had sent over from the physicians?” He lays hand gently over the silk of Han’s gown, where his knees lay bandaged.

Han sniffs, and looks away. “He did. Did you really send it yourself?” he adds with more than a hint of doubt.

Minseok stands up, and Han thinks he’s going to sulk again and move away. Instead the Emperor sits down right beside him. He doesn’t answer.

“Han, listen to me. I have spent days arguing with the court, and with my brothers. This is not an easy situation. What happens inside the harem is not unconnected with what goes on without.”

“Do you mean Duke Kangin?” asks Han. He wrings his lips together. Minseok cautiously holds his hand to Han’s jaw, but the consort refuses to acknowledge him. They stay that way so long Han thinks the Emperor doesn’t mean to answer him. Finally, he sighs and drops his hand, and he nods.

“The family ties between my brother’s consort, and my own, make this more than difficult. Kangin and his supporters are calling for me to absolve Kyungsoo. Whereas there is no one from her family powerful enough to object.”

“You are the Emperor. You can object.” Han knows a futile argument when he says one, but he still says it nevertheless.

Minseok sighs. “Because I am the Emperor, I can do even less than I would like. I promise you, Han, I have issued a secondary investigation of all matters regarding this affair and I do want to get to the bottom of it. But without proof… if there is no proof to be found, I cannot go against the court. Consort Oh appears very guilty right now, regardless of what you and I know of her personality.”

“But the baby… _your_ child,” Han pleads louder.

“Now this I definitely promise you, and Sehun. Nothing will happen to her child, nothing at all, or else I will have this entire Palace burned to the ground.”

Han gasps, not quite in relief, maybe in a little disbelief. What he doesn’t say is that Minseok may not have a choice in that if certain nefarious persons are still around with something to say. The other half of Han’s mind though is glad.

“I’ll hold you to that, Your Majesty. Or else.”

Minseok actually smiles at him. “Or else?”

Han turns away, acting coy. The Emperor may be flirting with him right now, but the lives of many in the Palace are on the line. Han cannot just forget that. For now though, he must. He lets the Emperor hold him, and for once it’s not a sexual embrace. Minseok must know how he feels, knows that now isn’t the time for that. There’s so much apology in his touch, so much reassurance, however meaningless that might be.

“Han, you realize I wasn’t ignoring you for two days. I really didn’t know you were there. I was so busy, I slept in my study and never returned to my chambers. They didn’t tell me you were here.”

“Oh?” says Han. “Perhaps I’ll have a word with General Li about that.”

Minseok laughs. “I’m afraid that won’t be necessary. I have already dealt with him and have docked his pay for two weeks.”

“All for me?” says Han.

“All for you.”

  
  


A week later the investigation is pronounced finished. Kyungsoo is absolved for her part in the scandal, and Consort Oh Sehun is dealt all the blame, including the framing of Consort Do. The court settles down, and Duke Kangin is heard loudly on the steps declaring his influence and gathering more officials under his wing. The Emperor makes himself scarce for days, seeing no one but members of his own staff, and Han spends the time sobbing angrily in his room. The Empress fumes privately but cannot make a public statement. Noble Consort Zhang remains curiously in self-isolation, though several servants from his household mysteriously disappear.

No one sees or hears from Sehun who remains under house arrest until her baby is born. And after that, everybody knows but they do not speak of it. A sentence of death might be almost preferable, than a lifetime banishment to the Cold Palace.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is far from over. 
> 
> Also, a shorter chapter than I planned but I think it flows better this way, ending right here instead of several more scenes down the road. 
> 
> Come talk to me ~ [Twitter](https://twitter.com/ShineALightRose)"> or [Curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/ShineALightRose)


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